


catch me when the stars stop running

by raventiques



Category: K-pop, NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Best Friends, Car Accidents, Coming Out, Flashbacks, Friends to Lovers, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Jealous Nakamoto Yuta, Lee Taeyong & Nakamoto Yuta Are Best Friends, Love Confessions, M/M, Major Character Injury, Shy Lee Taeyong, they're both just shy dummies, yutae, yutae is still alive but barely breathing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-15
Updated: 2018-03-20
Packaged: 2019-03-31 21:29:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 25,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13983690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raventiques/pseuds/raventiques
Summary: Yuta was Yuta, so it only made sense for Taeyong to fall in love with him.





	1. in the silence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi everyone!! it's your least favourite yutae writer back to fill up the tag. the idea for this fic came from another taylor swift song (i'm still a swiftie first and a human second) and that one was [you are in love](https://open.spotify.com/track/2veWZB8mfiJjxDeQRkKrKS).
> 
> also, thank you to my beautiful beta reader, [woojaethebae](http://woojaethebae.tumblr.com/) please go follow her i love her. thank you for encouraging me to write my fic. i love you.
> 
>  **trigger warning** for implied/referenced homophobia in this chapter.

   Taeyong couldn’t remember exactly when it started.

   They met when they were seventeen – Yuta was bright and fresh-faced, bold and confident. His family had just moved to Korea from Japan, but nobody would ever know it, because Yuta’s Korean was already exceptionally good.

   “I practised so much,” Yuta had told him, when they were hunched over together at lunch one day. Taeyong had woken up late and without any lunch or money on him, Yuta had offered to share his own container of rice. After grabbing a fork from the canteen, they sat next to each other, on a bench in the corner of the yard, heads together. “My dad got the call almost a year in advance, so I started learning right away.”

   Taeyong nodded.

   “You didn’t find it difficult?”

   Yuta looked up at him, smiling, and Taeyong knew that he wasn’t going to get a direct answer, because whenever Yuta smiled like that before saying anything, he’d always come out with some cryptic response that Taeyong would spend hours trying to figure out. Because that’s how Yuta was.

   So Taeyong was surprised when Yuta said “Yes.”

   Taeyong blinked.

   “I lost a lot of motivation. But it started to become easier when…”

   Taeyong eyed him as Yuta took his own forkful and took his sweet time chewing, knowing that Taeyong was waiting for him to finish his sentence. Despite knowing this, Taeyong gave in.

   “When what?”

   Yuta smiled again; a sight that Taeyong enjoyed a lot more than he’d like to admit. It reminded him of when he was younger, and would open the window on early in the morning, being greeted by the precious rays of the sun, the warmth waking him instantly.

   Yuta only shrugged, finally looking away.

   “At some point, it became easier, because something ended up pushing me. Motivating me, I guess.”

   “Oh,” Taeyong said. Taeyong took another mouthful, and pretended that he _wasn’t_ thinking about whatever motivated Yuta to keep going.

   When the container was empty, Yuta glanced at him. Taeyong glanced back, and their eyes met for a little longer than Taeyong was used to. The air was humid, the sky a peculiar shade of blue that Taeyong would be fascinated by if Yuta wasn’t continuously staring at him.

   Finally, Taeyong cleared his throat, drawing his eyes away.

   He hoped that Yuta didn’t see the light blush on his face.

 

-

 

   Yuta had his first girlfriend at eighteen.

   She wasn’t just pretty; but absolutely breathtakingly beautiful, with gorgeous, silky black hair and large doe eyes. And she was one of the most intelligent students in the school, on the student council, and could play the flute-

   Taeyong didn’t hate her. He couldn’t hate her. Yuta was Yuta, so it made sense for _her_ to like him.

   They spent an absurd amount of time together, holding hands on the yard and secretly smiling at each other during class.

   It wasn’t just during school, either. They went out on weekends, to dinner, bowling, walks in the park. Every single cliché couple date, they did.

   And as Taeyong sat opposite them during lunch, when their hands intertwined as they talked about their history class – the one class that Taeyong didn’t share with them, the class in which they met – Taeyong looked up at the pastel blue sky and pushed the jealousy down his throat.

   (Maybe Taeyong wanted to hold someone’s hand, too.)

   They broke up a month before graduation.

   It was mutual, apparently. Their universities were on the opposite sides of Seoul. Taeyong guessed that the feelings weren’t strong enough to manage the distance, and they both agreed that it was best to break it off.

   “It’s us now,” Yuta said on what was their last day of school, or their first day of summer, to be accurate. They’d stayed up way past midnight on Yuta’s roof, staring at the sky, making wishes that would never come true. Taeyong turned his head, only to find that Yuta was gazing right back at him, a slight smile on his face. He was completely ethereal in the moonlight, his eyes outshining every single star in the sky.

   Taeyong felt inferior just being sat next to him.

   If didn’t seem like Yuta was expecting a response from Taeyong, who was too dazed to say anything coherent. When he finally willed himself to look away, Taeyong’s own gaze lingered, and he wondered why he should bother looking up at the star lit sky when there was already a star sitting right next to him.

 

-

 

   They were nineteen when Taeyong finally built up the courage to tell Yuta that it was guys and not girls.

   He wasn’t worried exactly – Yuta was always extremely understanding and Taeyong hadn’t been exactly subtle. He ignored whenever girls looked at him, denied their offers for dates, and they eventually got the message and turned themselves to Yuta.

   Not that they hadn’t noticed him already. Because Yuta was Yuta, a football champion on the university team, Osaka’s Prince, with a healing smile and broad shoulders and-

   It was no wonder that so many girls liked him.

   (Not just girls.)

   They were sat on Taeyong’s dorm room floor, an open pizza box in between them. Sometimes, Yuta joked that food was what united them, and Taeyong had to admit that he wasn’t completely wrong. Yuta was the one who always offered his food to Taeyong, and Taeyong always took it.

   “It was fun. She’s pretty,” Yuta said, as he picked up his own slice. “And funny too, but I just didn’t feel anything, you know? It just felt like going out with a friend.”

   Taeyong nodded, listening intently about Yuta’s latest date. He’d long since gotten over his irrational jealousy, because majority of these dates never went anywhere further, and if they did, they didn’t last for more than a couple of months. Inquisitively, it seemed to be Yuta who was calling off these relationships, with similar reasoning.

   _I just didn’t feel anything, there wasn’t anything there, I couldn’t see it going anywhere, I could only see her as a friend…_

Taeyong tried not to think about it.

   “So what did you say?”

   Yuta shrugged. “I told her that. And she said that it was okay, and we’ll just stay friends for now.”

   “Oh.”

   They continued eating in silence, Yuta taking huge bites because he was Yuta, and Taeyong breaking up his slices into small pieces, because according to Yuta, ‘there was no way that Taeyong could ever eat normally.’

   Taeyong stared down at his slice absentmindedly, reflecting on what Yuta said. He said that often: that there was no romantic connection, that he couldn’t see anything ever going beyond friendship, and Taeyong related a lot more than he’d like to admit. Whenever he tried to picture himself in a romantic relationship, his entire mind thought about was how nothing ever seemed more than a friendship to him. Or at least, that’s how he felt when it came to girls.

   “What did you mean?” Taeyong blurted out. Yuta jumped slightly, his eyes widening. “When you said that it just felt like going out with a friend?”

   Yuta blinked at him, clearly confused, trying to make sense of what Taeyong had just impulsively exclaimed.

   “I-I don’t know. There just wasn’t anything romantic about it. I couldn’t imagine dating her.”

   Taeyong slowly nodded, inhaling, as he realised that he was about to open up a book that he’d kept shut for so long.

   “I feel like that, too. Except, with every girl.” Yuta stared at him, his wide eyes full of concern. “I-I think I’m gay…” His voice trailed off once he got to the final word, his voice became small. He _felt_ small. He’d never said it out loud to anyone before, never thoroughly thought it out. Not that he needed to; it was just something that had always been there, ever present. He bent his knees up to his chin, biting his lip, what had he just done-

   “Oh,” Yuta said, and for a brief moment, Taeyong’s heart sank, but he couldn’t explain why.

   Yuta put down his slice, wiping his hands on a nearby cloth. He made his way around, moving closer to Taeyong, and before Taeyong knew it, Yuta’s arms where around him, and Taeyong could inhale his scent of deodorant and wet grass from football practice.

   “You’re okay. It’s okay,” Yuta said softly, so softly, Taeyong had never heard him speak like that before. “You’re the best person in the world, and it doesn’t matter if you don’t like girls. It’s okay.”

   Yuta kissed his head, and Taeyong could feel his heart beating faster than he’d like to acknowledge. Yuta was so warm and so soft, and he smelled so nice. They’d hugged occasionally, but not like this. Not having Yuta’s arms wrapped around him, holding him the way that the sunlight hugged the trees at dawn.

   Taeyong wanted to shift and wriggle his way out, to stop that tingling feeling in his chest, but another part of him wanted to stay in Yuta’s arms forever.

   “Any guy would be lucky to have you, you know.”

   Taeyong laughed lightly, but he couldn’t find it funny, because he simply didn’t agree. Taeyong was awkward and reserved and was terrible at expressing his feelings. He wasn’t just a closed book, he was completely locked with a key in a safe with a passcode on the highest shelf of the library, and Yuta seemed to be the only one who was ever concerned with reading him.

   Taeyong wondered how Yuta had stayed with him so long.

   Yuta must have noticed this Taeyong’s detachment because he shifted to make eye contact with Taeyong, and Taeyong didn’t know whether to comply or look away.

   Taeyong looked up from where he was absentmindedly staring at the ground, only to find that Yuta was staring at him. Taeyong quickly glanced away, and Yuta laughed.

   “Are you okay?”

   “I just told my best friend that I’m gay; I think that I’m allowed to be a little flustered,” muttered Taeyong, but the humour in his tone didn’t go unnoticed. Yuta laughed again, and Taeyong could feel himself smiling.

   “I guess that’s true,” he said. Taeyong glanced at him again, and he realised that even after all these years, he could never quite get used to Yuta’s eyes on him. Taeyong always thought that his gaze was scary – he’d been _told_ that his gaze was scary – but something about Yuta’s gaze was warm and reflective. Almost comforting, so he didn’t know why he felt so uneasy whenever Yuta stared at him. Especially like _that_.

   (Yuta’s gaze was a trap, he knew, but Taeyong couldn’t stop himself from falling in.)

 

-

 

   Taeyong was twenty when he finally accepted the fact that he _really_ wasn’t good at hiding things.

   One of Yuta’s good friends and fellow football team members, Johnny, was sat himself with them at lunch.  Taeyong didn’t mind, because Johnny was actually quite funny and pleasant to be around. It made sense why he and Yuta clicked the most, and unlike most members of the football team, he didn’t pretend to “forget” that Taeyong was there, just because he was a skinny music student who didn’t know a thing about sports.

   Yuta and Taeyong sat next to each other, and Johnny sat opposite them. Taeyong kept himself preoccupied, reading over his notes and munching on his sandwich, while Johnny and Yuta chattered about sports. Taeyong had no idea what they were saying, and he wasn’t really interested.

   At some point, Yuta wrapped his arms around Taeyong’s waist, and pulled him closer. Taeyong held his breath; he should have been used to Yuta doing that, because he was Yuta, and he always did that, but that didn’t mean that Taeyong didn’t hold his breath whenever he did it.

   The stars started trembling.

   “Okay, I’m going to get another drink,” Yuta announced when the table fell silent. He waved his hand in front of Taeyong’s face, and Taeyong blinked.

   “You want anything?”

   “No,” Taeyong said. Yuta didn’t budge, keeping his eyes fixed on him. “I don’t.”

   Yuta looked at Johnny. “He’ll say that and then he’ll complain that he’s hungry by his last lecture.”

   “I don’t do that,” insisted Taeyong, though he wasn’t sure who exactly he was trying to convince here. Yuta laughed.

   “Keep telling yourself that.” Before he got up to leave the bench, he gave Taeyong’s hand a squeeze. Yuta’s hand was absurdly warm; Taeyong couldn’t deny how warm it made him feel too, the stars still trembling.

   “I don’t do that…” Taeyong trailed off, despite the fact that Yuta was way out of earshot. Taeyong bent his head over to continue reading his book, slightly embarrassed to talk to Johnny, though he couldn’t explain why. The warmth from Yuta’s hand still lingered long after he’d gone.

   “So,” Johnny said a tad too loud. Taeyong looked up, catching Johnny’s casual expression. “How long have you been dating?” Taeyong blinked, his mouth gaping open.

   “W-what?”

   Johnny looked up at him from his own container of rice, his expression unchanging. “I said-”

   Taeyong raised up a hand. “I know what you said. No, we’re not…no.” He shook his head. “We’re only friends.”

   Johnny continued eating his rice as if nothing had happened. It almost irritated Taeyong, because what kind of person just came out with that accusation and didn’t seem shaken in the slightest?

   “Okay,” he said, without any ounce of belief.

   “I’m not lying. We’re best friends but we’re not a couple. Johnny, you _know_ we’re not dating. We’re just-”

   “Okay. I didn’t say anything else,” Johnny reminded him, taking a sip of his water. Taeyong could feel himself flushing red, and all he wanted to do was bury himself in his book again, because Johnny had just bought up something that Taeyong didn’t want to think about.

   Johnny opened his mouth again, and Taeyong wanted to tell him to _stop_.

   “So you wouldn’t mind if _I_ dated Yuta? If I asked him out?”

   Taeyong blinked, jealousy washing over him like a wave hitting the shore and as much as he hated to admit it, that idea felt as pleasant as being thrown head first into the depths of the ocean.

   And why didn’t it? Yuta was allowed to do what he wanted. Taeyong couldn’t stop him. He was just being a protective best friend, because he’d _seen_ Yuta go out on constant dates and have his own flings that never lasted beyond a couple of months. All accumulating, one stone on top of the other, until it all collapsed. Yuta crying into Taeyong because he wasn’t good enough, because he couldn’t stay with anyone long enough, because he for some reason wasn’t _enough_.

   It took Taeyong all of the willpower he could muster to not let it all come to the surface, to not ramble about how Yuta was the most beautiful and enchanting person on the planet, that Taeyong would always be there and that to him, Yuta wasn’t just enough. That he was everything and _more_ , but that barely mattered, because once Yuta’s head was on Taeyong’s shoulder, Taeyong forgot how to breathe.

   “N-no. I wouldn’t mind.” Even through Taeyong’s own ears, his sentence sounded fake and horribly forced. He couldn’t even bring himself to look at Johnny; his hands lay flat on his book, attempting to keep it open, even though all he wanted to do was close up.

   “I won’t; don’t worry. But you,” he stretched his arm out to Taeyong, touching the edge of his book. “You should be a little more open. Pursue what you want.”

   “I don’t want anything.”

   “Pursue _who_ you want, then,” corrected Johnny, a challenging tone in his voice, and Taeyong almost choked on the air. He wished that he didn’t know what Johnny was implying, but he couldn’t stay hidden in the bushes forever.

   (He knew.)

   “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Taeyong shook his head.

   “Of course you don’t,” Johnny muttered into his drink, a slight smirk on his face, and Taeyong didn’t know what else to do except vehemently deny what he’d spent years trying to suppress.

   When Yuta returned to the bench, smiling and glowing, he silently handed Taeyong one of his favourite chocolate bars that he knew Taeyong was secretly obsessed with, and promptly returned to talking with Johnny. Taeyong shifted whenever he felt either of their eyes on him, keeping himself occupied with his book. The letters kept merging together, a sea of black dots that Taeyong couldn’t understand.

   There were a lot of things that Taeyong didn’t understand.

   When Yuta did that thing again – the thing where he wraps his arms around Taeyong’s waist and pulls him closer – the stars shake again, and Taeyong realised that this was something else that he didn’t understand.

 

-

 

   Taeyong stood outside, the spring breeze rustling the leaves nearby. Not too far away, the football team were practising in their red and black uniforms that Taeyong secretly found ugly, but he never dared to bring it up, because Yuta got sulky when he mentioned it once.

   (“But I look good in it, right?”

   “You look good in everything.”

   Yuta laughed.)

   It didn’t take long for Taeyong to spot Yuta in the mass. He just looked _so_ different, a flower in a plain field, a splash of colour in a sea of grey that Taeyong couldn’t describe.

   Because Yuta was Yuta, and trying to describe him without writing an entire novel was an impossible feat. He looked quite angelic in the evening sunset, the sunlight bouncing off his skin, making him look _radiant_ , his eyes glistening-

   Taeyong glanced away when he could feel himself staring too much. Again. It was almost 7pm, but, despite the time, it was still relatively light, if a bit breezy. Taeyong looked up at the sky and discovered that it contained beautiful shades of muted blues and delicate lilac hues.

   (Dotted with faded greys, because even the sky was vulnerable to being blemished and scarred.)

   It was mesmerising.

   Taeyong pulled his phone from his pocket, turning on his camera and occupied himself with taking photos, while he waited for practice to end.

   “Hi.”

   Taeyong jumped out of his skin, yet unable to bring himself to frown at the familiar voice. Yuta’s hands were on Taeyong’s shoulders and they were immensely hot.

   “I could have dropped my phone,” Taeyong said, with absolutely no force.

   “I would have caught it,” said Yuta, spinning himself to face Taeyong. He kept his hands on his shoulders, and Taeyong knew that Yuta was staring again.

   (He always was.)

   Taeyong hummed, glancing at the pictures on his phone. He could feel Yuta’s eyes fixed on him .

   Yuta seemed to stare at him a lot lately, and Taeyong still wasn’t used to it. It made his heart flip a little, the stars dancing, and with Yuta standing opposite him, clearly gazing, his strong hands on Taeyong’s shoulders, Taeyong couldn’t deny the small eruption in his chest.

   Taeyong forced himself to look up. Their eyes locked briefly, and Yuta blinked, clearly surprised at the sudden movement, dropping his hands from Taeyong’s shoulders.

   “Aren’t we going?” Taeyong asked, suddenly aware of how close their faces were.

   Yuta hesitated, as if he was taking time to collect himself, taking a step back. Taeyong’s shoulders slumped.

   “Actually…”

   “Yuta.”

   “Johnny just invited us to go to a diner with him, that’s all.”

   Taeyong watched him. Sure, Taeyong liked Johnny and he liked eating, but he wasn’t really in the mood right now.

   “You don’t have to come if you don’t want to…” Yuta added, but Taeyong could still hear the desperation in his voice, but it didn’t really matter, because Taeyong was completely weak for Yuta anyway.

   Taeyong stifled a sigh, but they both already knew what he was going to say.

   “Fine,” Taeyong shrugged his shoulders. “Just us three?”

   “Uh, no, actually. One of his friends, Ten, is coming along, too. In the year below. He’s originally from Thailand, studying international relations.” Yuta moved backwards and posed dramatically, making an exaggerated heart with his arms.

   “You always make friends with the foreigners,” Taeyong said. “Johnny and Sicheng. Jaehyun and now this Ten person?” Taeyong lifted his phone and took pictures of Yuta, who was way too obsessed with heart poses, but Taeyong didn’t mind. He liked it a lot actually.  A lot more than he’d ever admit.

   “Well, we foreigners have to stick together. Isn’t that right, Johnny?” Yuta called out. Taeyong turned around and saw Johnny stood behind him. Not too far, but far enough. His hands were folded and their eyes met. Taeyong didn’t know if he could be any more uncomfortable under anyone’s gaze other than Yuta’s, but Johnny was watching him, reading him like a book, and Taeyong wanted to snap it shut.

   Taeyong turned back around. “I-I guess I’m outnumbered.”

   Yuta laughed, loud and boundless, music to Taeyong’s ears, his favourite melody, his favourite _song_. A song that Taeyong would gladly listen to forever.

   He wasn’t posing, but Taeyong took a picture of him anyway.

 

-

 

   Taeyong didn’t like this diner at all. It was too loud, and the walls were vibrant pink and magenta. It looked like a beacon of forced positivity, with assorted smiley faces painted on the walls and pictures of people smiling while holding their drinks. Taeyong could see why Johnny liked it, and that was probably why Taeyong hated it.

   Taeyong stared down at his milkshake, bought for him by Yuta after Johnny’s rather insistent recommendation. It was thick and such bright pink that it was almost jarring. He couldn’t remember what was in it: cherries and another ingredient that he couldn’t really remember the name of.

   “Just drink it,” Yuta said from across him. “It’s not going to come out and bite you.”

   Taeyong eyed him. “I’m just observing it.”

   “You’ve been observing it for the past five minutes. Drink up.”

   Taeyong took a small sip through his straw, looking around the place he didn’t want to be. His eyes landed on a quote above one of the windows: “Pursue what you want!”

   Taeyong wondered whether that’s where Johnny got it from.

   “Your Korean is very good,” Ten said to Taeyong.

   “I-I am Korean,” said Taeyong. Ten’s eyes widened at his mistake.

   “Oh, sorry!” He looked towards Yuta. “You’re Yuta.”

   Yuta only laughed. Of course he did.

   “I thought that you,” he gestured towards Taeyong, “were Japanese. You look like a manga.”

   “I know,” said both Johnny and Yuta in unison. Taeyong could feel himself blushing, sinking in his seat, wishing that he could disappear in a whirlpool at that precise moment.

   “He gets all shy when people call him pretty,” Yuta explained, a touch of sadness in his voice that Taeyong couldn’t trace. “I don’t understand why. He’s so pretty. You’re so pretty.” Yuta looked at Taeyong as the final sentence was said, and Taeyong wished that he had a book to bury himself into, because he was now certain that not just the stars – but the entire sky in his chest was shaking and the stars were sprinkling out.

   He hated being complimented on his looks, but he _especially_ hated it when it came from Yuta. Yuta, who said it so genuinely, with so much affection, his eyes shining and putting the night sky to shame.

   It made Taeyong’s heart race, it made him think too much, with all those _coulds_ and _maybes_. It gave him false hope, that _maybe_ he wasn’t being completely delusional; maybe there was a small possibility-

   He hated how it made him feel. Like he had any kind of chance. Like Yuta would ever see him as anything _more_.

   The conversation eventually shifted, and they were enthusiastically exchanging differences between their respective countries, from food to daily life to weather. All while Taeyong sat idle. There wasn’t much that he could contribute, when his own country was the one that they all shared in common.

   Yuta would frequently glance at Taeyong, nudging him with his leg, pressing his own soft hand on Taeyong’s that sent a wave of warmth throughout his body. A mystic touch that quite literally healed him.

   _Taeyong, it’s okay._

Taeyong was crying. Not just crying, but weeping, tears exploding everywhere like a malfunctioning fountain. His breathing a mess, his hair, a mess, _he_ was a complete mess, collapsed on the cold tiles of the bathroom floor.

   _Taeyong, please listen to me_.

   Taeyong was trying. He was trying so hard to listen, his ears ringing, those horrible words and slurs still floating in his ears, still haunting his mind. It shouldn’t have affected him so much, but it _did_. They may have just been some ignorant teenagers who saw him as an easy target with his rainbow sweatband and piercings, but it still _hurt_. It had all built up, like being attacked with arrows, one by one, until he got home, stinging, hurting _everywhere_.

   Yuta asked if he was all right as soon as he walked in, but they both knew that he wasn’t.

   (He never really was.)

   Yuta sat down next to him, because Taeyong wasn’t responding, but that didn’t mean that he didn’t want Yuta there. He let him cry, let it rain, optimistically waiting for it to end, for the sun to come out again.

   _Taeyong_.

   Yuta didn’t seem to mind. He was patient, he waited, he stayed next to him and placed a gentle hand on Taeyong’s shoulder, another on his forearm. Taeyong could feel his eyes on him, pleading Taeyong to stop, to _explain_ , and after a couple of seconds, he could feel his breaths steadying, his heart beat slowing down, the rain storm calm enough that a house of cards could stand perfectly.

   _You don’t deserve that…whoever made you cry like that._

Pause.

   _You shouldn’t cry, Taeyong. It hurts seeing you cry_.

   It hurt. It _hurt_. It hurt Taeyong, and as a result, it hurt Yuta, because Yuta cared so much that it terrified him. Terrified them both.

   Taeyong took a deep breath, his throat drier than any desert, his eyes red and tear-stained, but he looked at Yuta anyway, and Yuta looked right back at him.

   Yuta squeezed Taeyong’s hand; a sad but grateful smile on his face, and upon Yuta’s touch, Taeyong was certain that all of the clouds in the sky disappeared in an instant.

   (Not just a healing smile, but a healing touch as well.)

   When Taeyong was looking down at his hands, back at the tiresome diner, fiddling with his fingers as he always did, he felt a warm weight on his leg. Glancing up, he saw Yuta’s lips curve upwards as his leg rested on Taeyong’s, challenging him to move away – like Taeyong always did – but he didn’t.

   Yuta touched a lot. That was something that Taeyong had picked up on fairly quickly. He relied on contact, like the sun relied on the world below them catching its rays and absorbing its warmth.

   That didn’t mean that Taeyong was used to it. And it definitely didn’t mean that the stars would ever stop shaking.

 

-

 

   “You’re freezing,” declared Yuta, a strong hand on Taeyong’s shoulder. It was heading towards 10pm, and they had only just started making their way back home. Taeyong tried to shrug it off, but this was one thing that he couldn’t deny. He had no idea that they’d stay out so late, and all Taeyong was wearing was a thin, long-sleeved white shirt.

   “I’m fine. It’s not that cold.”

   “Oh, stop lying,” Yuta said. Taeyong was taken aback. He couldn’t read his tone – a mixture of empathy and exasperation that Taeyong had never heard before. Like seeing a new colour for the first time.

   Yuta stopped walking and unzipped his sports bag. Digging through it, he pulled out one of his baseball jacks – which Taeyong found ironic, because they played _football_. He held it out to Taeyong, who only stared at it. Yuta inched it closer.

   “Put it on.”

   “No.”

   Yuta narrowed his eyes. “You’re acting like a baby. Just wear it.”

   Taeyong hesitantly took it from Yuta’s arms, holding it up in front of him as if he didn’t know what it was. It was the same colour as the football kit; red and black, but it looked nowhere near as hideous.

   Yuta kept his eyes on him as he put it on. Once the jacket was on him, Taeyong couldn’t deny that it felt so much better. So much _warmer_ , like the sun had finally returned.

   (Like Yuta was hugging him again.)

   “There we go,” Yuta said, satisfied. They continued walking side by side, Yuta looking ahead and Taeyong stealing glances at his perfect side profile, because it was practically impossible _not_ to stare at Yuta. Even among the dark streets, his face was still illuminated with the car and store front lights. His pink lips changed with the lights, from green, to blue, to yellow, to pink again, and Taeyong wanted to kiss every shade.

   He cleared his throat, and Yuta glanced at him. A small smile appeared on his face, and Taeyong quickly looked away, embarrassed that his thoughts had caused him to stare so much.

   When Taeyong finally looked again, Yuta stared right back at him and laughed.

   “What’s wrong?” Yuta asked, a playful tone to his voice.

   “You keep staring at me,” mumbled Taeyong, looking away. He decided to keep himself occupied by taking note of the buildings that they walked past instead, a laundromat, a sweet shop, a hairdressers, another sweet shop…

   “That’s because you’re staring at _me_ ,” clarified Yuta, as if it was obvious. “And I can’t help it, anyway, since you’re so pretty.”

   Taeyong clenched his jaw, trying his best to not let the red get to his cheeks. Yuta did it again, saying the word ‘pretty’ in such a light tone, stretching it out like he was singing, but stating it as if it were a fact.

   The stars wavered.

   In another world, if Taeyong was brave enough, if things always went his way, he could slip his left hand into Yuta’s and keep it there. He thought of all the times he’d seen Yuta hold onto the hands of the girls he’d dated, and Taeyong would be lying if he said that he hadn’t thought about it, too. Yuta’s hands were always warm and incredibly soft and Taeyong wanted nothing more than to hold them.

   (It would be the same as holding the universe in his hands.)

   Yuta insisted that Taeyong keep his jacket. Even though Taeyong had already taken it off, ready to throw it back at Yuta – hopefully along with his stupid feelings. And all of those damn stars.

   Once home, Taeyong peeled off the jacket, failing to anticipate the cold air that hit him once he did. Taking a look at the label, he saw where Yuta had scrawled his name in a purple pen. The same pen from the extensive pack of coloured pens that Taeyong had gifted him for his latest birthday, along with other things.

   He still remembered the way that his face dropped in disbelief when he opened it, eyes twinkling, gasping with excitement because _how did Taeyong know_.

   _Because you always stare at it for twenty minutes when we walk past the stationary shop_.

   Yuta’s mouth closed when he heard the explanation, taking milliseconds to shoot back into a wide smile because a pack of pens managed to make a 21-year-old student so _damn_ happy.

   Taeyong caught himself smiling at the trivial memory, hanging Yuta’s jacket on the back of his door and forcing himself to think or something, _anything_ else.

   (A futile pursuit, because even in a wide world of rivers and forests and tsunamis and blizzards, Taeyong could never _really_ bring himself to stop thinking about Yuta.)

   He couldn’t forget Yuta’s words, the way that he constantly called him pretty and tried his best to look him in the eye when he said this. He couldn’t forget the way that Yuta brushed Taeyong’s hand whenever he could sense that Taeyong was tense, and it worked, because all of the tension did somehow manage to leave upon Yuta’s touch.

   Taeyong went to sleep warmer than ever that night, desperately trying to ignore the way the stars would shake whenever he thought about Yuta and the dumb jacket.

 

-

 

   Taeyong was scanning the library shelves, looking for one particular book that he needed, when he heard a slam next to him.

   “You are absolutely ridiculous.”

   Taeyong sighed, ignoring him.

   “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Johnny.”

   “You know exactly what I’m talking about. Or should I say, who?”

   Taeyong glared at him. “I’m not doing this here.”

   “Fine, then. Meet me in the canteen at four,” he ordered, and Taeyong knew that it wasn’t optional. Johnny turned to walk away. “We need to talk. _You_ need to talk.”

   Taeyong glanced at him as he walked away, groaning at the conversation that he should have seen coming sooner or later.

 

-

 

   “Taeyong! Are you going home right now?” Taeyong was making his way towards the canteen when Yuta caught up with him, resting his hand on his shoulder. Taeyong froze.

   “N-no,”

   “Oh, good. I was thinking before practice, we could-”

   “I can’t,” Taeyong said abruptly, wincing because it wasn’t often that he declined going anywhere with Yuta – if at all. “I’m…meeting Johnny.”

   Yuta looked as if Taeyong had suddenly started speaking fluent Japanese. He blinked the confusion off his face. “Ah, okay. I’ll come with you.” Yuta moved to follow him, but Taeyong stayed put.

   “H-he just wanted to talk. Just us two…” Taeyong trailed off, the awkwardness hitting the air. Taeyong knew that Yuta was slightly hurt that Johnny – _his_ friend – was meeting Taeyong without him.

   Yuta paused, bemused, his expression dropping with the sudden realisation.

   “Oh. Okay…” Yuta’s voice sounded faint, and he’d stopped looking at Taeyong, which felt unfamiliar, because Yuta _always_ looked at him. The atmosphere had suddenly turned distant, and before he could think of anything else to say, he heard a faint ‘see you later’, fainter than the early morning patters of the rain.

 

-

 

   “You’re in denial. So, so in denial.”

   Taeyong frowned as he sat opposite Johnny, already not liking this conversation. “I’m not in denial of anything.”

   Johnny sighed. “You’ve literally just denied what I said.”

   “I did n-” Taeyong gave up before he even finished his sentence. Johnny opened his water bottle, taking a sip, and Taeyong watched him. Taeyong wondered if Johnny was this bold and unapologetic because he was American, or if that’s just how he was.

   “I’ll ask you again, then,” Johnny said. “Would you mind if _I_ were to date Yuta?” Taeyong suppressed the unnecessary resentment in his chest, the stars burning.

   “I-If you want to ask him out, then go ahead.”

   Johnny shook his head. “No; I don’t want to. But you don’t like that idea, do you?”

   Taeyong looked downwards at his hands, thin and veiny, unlike Yuta’s, which were warm and full. Healing hands that contained a maze that Taeyong wanted to get lost in.

   “He’s my best friend,” he said lowly, and Johnny chuckled.

   “Yes, but he looks at you like you contain all the stars in sky and you pretend not to notice.”

   Taeyong began to blush, because Johnny was just embellishing. He was a literature student after all; he was supposed to be good with words, good with exaggerated metaphors that sounded straight out of a poem.

   “He doesn’t.”

   “Yes, he does,” Johnny said casually, taking another sip of his drink. “And you look at him the same way. You two stare at each other _a lot_.”

   Taeyong bit his lip. Johnny was way too good of a reader, the literature student in him shining through. Deconstructing and reading in between the lines like it was all so clear. It made Taeyong uneasy.

   “That’s not true,” was all he could bring himself to say.

   “See? Denial. I’ve been friends with you guys for, what, is it almost a year now? It’s been obvious since the day we met, but now it’s _really_ obvious, Taeyong.” When Taeyong didn’t respond, Johnny continued. “I…I know that it’s none of my business, but I just have to say something, now. I can see how in love with him you are.”

   Taeyong inhaled, taking in Johnny’s words, coated in shining verity that Taeyong couldn’t ignore.

   The truth was that Yuta was Taeyong’s best friend, his closest friend, and he wasn’t going to ruin what he had with Yuta just because of his own, foolish feelings. Even if the stars would shake whenever Taeyong looked at him, at those stunning eyes that made him forget how to breathe, Taeyong would rather let them shake than have them burst and fall from heartbreak.

   Johnny leaned forward, making eye contact with Taeyong, who had spent the entire time staring at his own hands, because as much as he didn’t want to admit it, Johnny was right.

   “You deserve to be happy,” Johnny said, staring him down, his expression unchanging. “It just…it hurts, Taeyong. Seeing you silently pine like this. It hurts.”

 

-

 

   Yuta texted him later, worried about the amount of studying he had to do for his anatomy and physiology test. Without having to ask, Taeyong offered to come over and help. He was reasonably good at biology for someone who spent his high school classes doodling in his notebook. Taeyong didn’t know how he managed to avoid failing anything. 

   Taeyong showed up at Yuta’s door, Yuta’s jacket in his hand. Taeyong preferred to avoid thinking about the amount of time he’d spent simply looking at it, holding it as if it was a replacement for Yuta himself. It smelt just like him – grass, deodorant and hairspray. Just like when Yuta hugged him all those months ago.

   Yuta blinked in surprise. “Oh,” he said, trying his best to conceal the hurt expression on his face. As if Taeyong was returning a birthday gift. “You can keep it.”

   “But it’s yours,” insisted Taeyong.

   He knew that keeping that pathetic jacket with him would only make him fall harder for something that he couldn’t have. It was best to give it back, along with a part of his heart.

   Yuta reluctantly took the jacket from Taeyong’s arms, and as much as Taeyong denied everything, he couldn’t deny the empty feeling he had when the jacket was taken away from him.

 

-

 

   It was almost midnight, and they were going over the nervous system for the final time. They’d both had way too much coffee at this point, and Yuta’s flashcards were scattered across the floor, highlighted in various shades of luminous green, pink and orange.

   “I’m not going to be able remember all of this,” Yuta sighed, his head in his hands. Taeyong nudged him, frowning.

   “Hey, that’s not true. You don’t need to remember all of it. Just enough.”

   “Just enough,” Yuta repeated. Their eyes met, and the similar tingling feeling in his chest returned once again.

   (If only those damn stars could stop running _for once_.)

   Taeyong finally blinked and looked away, and Yuta let out a low laugh, his eyes returning to his own notes.

   Taeyong glanced around Yuta’s room. Full of everything Yuta loved, everything close to him. His photos from Japan, his anime collections, his younger sister’s artwork that she shoved at him whenever he went home.

   Taeyong’s eyes caught site of the grey photo frame above Yuta’s bed, a photo of him and his grandmother taken just days before she passed away.

   Taeyong remembered the week so clearly, a fresh memory in his mind. Yuta had been radio silent, a lot less stares, a lot less laughs, eyes losing their colour. Taeyong didn’t want to intrude, but seeing Yuta so withdrawn made him ache, so he asked.

   _They want us to go back. My parents. They’re so upset and they…they want to go back to Osaka again._

Despite not being told the full story, Taeyong could piece the rest of it together. He tugged Yuta’s sleeve, the way he could feel his heart being tugged by emotion, biting his lip. He asked again.

   _Are you going to go with them?_

Yuta paused, as if he was still thinking it over, before he began to slowly shake his head. Eyes still fixed on the ground, unable to look at Taeyong again.

   _I’m…I can’t go back so soon. I’m here now. I just need…time._

Time.

   That’s all that Yuta needed. Time.

   On the day that his parents left, Yuta had called Taeyong over at a ridiculous hour. The line was mostly silent, filled only with Yuta stammering Taeyong’s name, until Taeyong realised that time wasn’t all that Yuta needed.

   They sat opposite each other, Yuta rambling about regretting his decision to stay, how much he missed them already because he hadn’t been without them for so long, his fear that they’d never return. Taeyong sat and listened to this, to all of this, because it was what Yuta needed. For Taeyong to be there.

   In between sentences, Yuta paused, glancing at Taeyong as he yawned for the fifth time in only a couple of minutes.

   _You’re tired_.

   Taeyong shrugged. He wanted to deny it, but it was less of a statement and more of an accusation, Yuta’s voice sounding stronger than it had the entire night. He pulled down the rolled up sleeves on his oversized hoodie, covering his hands so that only the fingers poked out.

   _You should sleep._

   Taeyong stood up, stretching, ready to make his way for the door, but stopped when he noticed Yuta tense. His mouth made a small ‘o’ shape, a mixture of surprise and hesitation sweeping his delicate face, so Taeyong asked again.

   _Stay here. Please._

   The dim light in the room did a good job at hiding the redness in Yuta’s diamond eyes, but Taeyong knew better. He knew better, so he agreed. He stayed with Yuta, when Yuta had already stayed with him for years, sleeping in Yuta’s bed after he insisted, surrounded by his scent. Yuta in a sleeping bag on the floor, covered by a red fleece blanket that Taeyong had bought him for Christmas one time.

   When Taeyong was convinced that Yuta was asleep, he craned himself over the bed, watching Yuta’s side profile. Calm and beautiful, strands of his soft hair spread across the pillow his head rested on.

   Taeyong lay back on the bed, the precious feeling in his chest creeping its way through again, but he couldn’t prevent it. Thinking about Yuta, and how he pressed his hand against Taeyong’s before he went to sleep, and how much Taeyong would have happily kept hold of his hand for the entire night if he asked.

   It had been like that for almost two years now. Yuta’s parents and younger sister still hadn’t returned, staying in Osaka, along with his older sister who had never made the move in the first place. At first, Yuta was still hopeful, actively telling Taeyong that they may comeback, that they promised to visit, hints of possibly returning. But the statements soon became less enthusiastic, less certain, less often, and the uncomfortable truth soon became inescapably clear.

   It was their final year. Yuta could go back. He loved Osaka more than anything, and he loved his parents and his sisters and being able to speak his own language. He loved the mountains, and the cherry blossoms and the perfect blue skies, so Taeyong shouldn’t be surprised if Yuta _does_ decide to go back.

   Taeyong wished that Yuta was a flower, grounded in the soil and unable to move, unable to _leave_ , but even Taeyong had to acknowledge that it wasn’t that simple.

   Taeyong was shaken out of his memory upon realising that Yuta had been attempting to grasp his attention, waving a hand in front of his face. Taeyong blinked.

   “What?”

   “I _said_ , after my test, I have to return my books and finish my essay in the library. I also have practice straight after, so don’t be surprised if you don’t see me.”

   Taeyong nodded numbly, taking longer than usual to process what Yuta had said. He watched as Yuta stressfully ran a hand through his perfect hair, turning the page of his textbook, nibbling on his bottom lip.

   “I’ll bake you brownies once this test is over,” Taeyong exclaimed, shuffling the cue cards in his hands. Yuta looked up at him, a smile tugging on his lips at Taeyong’s words.

   “You’ve never baked brownies before.” Yuta said breathlessly, a smile still on his face.

   Taeyong shrugged, looking back down at the cards. “It’s never too late to try. Johnny showed me an American recipe that always works, so I’ll try it for you.”

   Yuta cleared his throat, also looking downwards.

   “Ah.”

   Taeyong waited for a further response, but none came. He kept glancing up at Yuta, who seemed occupied in the textbook. Not wanting to disturb, Taeyong continued shuffling the cards, taking note of the highlight colours. There was a lot of luminous green, despite Taeyong’s distaste for it. Yuta kept a tight grip of the book, his bare arms on show.

   They were silent for some moments, until Yuta suddenly uttered: “Do you talk to Johnny a lot?”

   Taeyong frowned at the sudden question, puzzled. He stopped shuffling the cards, catching Yuta’s agitated look.

   “I guess.” Taeyong finally answered, unsure himself whether what he way saying was accurate, because he honestly didn’t.

   “Oh. Good. Johnny’s a good guy.”

   Yuta shifted, until he finally stood up, putting his text book to one side. He stretched, the bare skin under his navel showing, and Taeyong gulped, willing himself to look away.

   He was _not_ thinking about that here.

   (That didn’t mean that maybe, just maybe, he wanted things to change.)

   Yuta announced that he was going to make coffee, and Taeyong joined him. Taeyong had lost count how many coffees they’d had, so he suggested tea instead, and Yuta’s eyes – no, his entire face – practically lit up like a string of lights.

   Because _Japanese tea_ was a thing and Yuta had a range of new flavours for Taeyong to try; sent to him from his older sister. He opened a cupboard, full of Japanese food, sighing because _it smelt just like Osaka_ , and Taeyong suddenly felt guilty for being glad that Yuta hadn’t given in and gone back.

   He wanted to ask. He so badly wanted to ask _when are you going back? Straight after graduation? Will you stay longer? How much longer?_

_How much time do I have before the boy I’m in love with moves away and forgets about me, while I keep pining and regretting words I never said?_

Taeyong was distracted when Yuta had finished making the first cup, holding it in front of him with wide eyes and intently describing how it was made and where it was from and its usage. Taeyong hated the fact that he could barely pay attention, because Yuta looked so thrilled, so bright even in the low lighting, skipping around the kitchen while he made the next cup.

   It made the stars in his chest skip and dance, too. An ideal end to an evening, Yuta making different teas and enthusiastically asking Taeyong what he thought. Taeyong sat on the countertop, watching Yuta like he quite literally contained every star in the sky, but that was only because _he did_.

   (And they all glowed when he smiled.)

   The domesticity reminded Taeyong of a future in an alternate universe, where Yuta’s apartment would be _theirs_ and they wouldn’t just be _friends_ , but Taeyong shoved those thoughts out of his mind as soon as he started to have them.

   Taeyong realised, when Yuta was smiling at him, supressing his loud laughter because Taeyong had pronounced one of the tea names completely wrong, that he’d have to be content with things never changing.

   (Carrying around a single flower instead of bouquet was better than not having anything at all.)

 

-

 

   “Wait, so you’re a music student, but you don’t play an instrument?” Ten asked him over the booth, completely baffled. Yuta was next to him Taeyong in the familiar diner that Taeyong didn’t viciously hate as much as he did the first time.

   “Music technology. It’s…not the same thing. It’s more about production and behind the scenes stuff, rather than actual instrument playing.”

   Ten nodded in understanding. “So you don’t play anything then.”

   Taeyong hesitated, fiddling with his fingers. “N-no.” He could feel Yuta frowning at him, but Taeyong’s expression didn’t change. He _was_ technically telling the truth.

   Yuta disagreed.

   “That’s not true.”

   “So what’s international relations like?” Taeyong quickly tried to change the topic, but Ten seemed so startled at the contrast that he looked in between them, trying to figure out who to respond to.

   “It’s kind of boring actually,” admitted Ten.

   “Taeyong,” Yuta said, a warning tone to his voice.

   “I thought you like geography?”

   “I mean, I do. I love all that stuff but the modules are a little-”

   “Taeyong plays piano,” Yuta declared. Ten blinked, and Taeyong’s eyes widened, hanging his head. He could already feel himself blushing, and once again, he wished that he could jump inside of a closed book and remain there forever.

   “Oh!” exclaimed Ten, his wide eyes turning towards Taeyong.

   Yuta nudged Taeyong, but Taeyong refused to speak. He’d always wanted to keep his piano playing a secret, and that was working perfectly fine until Yuta found him in the music room in high school, playing away.

   _I didn’t know you play_.

   Taeyong continued staring at him, completely frozen, shattered, unsure of what to say. Yuta wasn’t supposed to see this. Nobody was supposed to see _or_ hear this, but Yuta especially. Especially since _he_ was the reason-

   Taeyong grabbed the yellow notebook nearby him, shutting it tight, placing it on his knees. He hoped to the heavens that Yuta hadn’t seen any of it; not a single world.

   _What’s that?_

_It’s nothing, Yuta._

Yuta eyed him curiously, still leaning on the wall, Taeyong watching him, refusing to say anything. Because Yuta was the one who intruded, who almost read something that he shouldn’t.

   _You write, too?_

Taeyong took a deep breath, keeping his left hand firmly gripped on the book.

   _Sometimes._

   _Can you play me something?_

Taeyong looked at him, then back at the keys. He did very briefly consider it, playing something simple, something classic, but he knew that wasn’t what Yuta meant.

   _I…I can’t._

Yuta leaned forward, hiding his discouragement.

   _Not now?_

Taeyong looked up, meeting Yuta’s eyes. He wanted to make it crystal clear, as bright as the moon in the sky, so that Yuta _understood_ and would hopefully never ask again.

   _Not ever. I…can never play you any of these songs, Yuta._

Yuta didn’t ask why, and Taeyong couldn’t honestly think of one particular reason, either. Because Yuta would hate him, because Yuta would freak out, panic, would stop talking to Taeyong. Because Taeyong wouldn’t know how to follow any of it up, he’d never be able to deal with the consequences.

   Because he was afraid.

   Because Yuta would leave.

   He hadn’t taken lessons since he was young, but he continued to play as much as possible. He enjoyed it, the feeling of the smooth keys, the expressive notes. It was something oddly intimate to him, and when Yuta found out, he felt like a part of him had been revealed, a page he’d never read out loud.

   “I-I used to have lessons,” Taeyong mumbled.

   “Oh, well if you still want lessons, Johnny plays piano, too. He teaches kids on weekends,” Ten offered, and Yuta did that _thing_ again. Without hesitation, he wrapped around Taeyong, and pulled him close, as if they weren’t close enough. Taeyong inhaled, partially flustered and partially dazed at the sudden touch.

   And partially because Yuta didn’t move his arm.

   Ten watched them with an unreadable expression, following where Yuta’s arm slinked itself around Taeyong. Taeyong didn’t know whether he wanted to lean in or pull himself away, whether he wanted to stand in the sunlight or hide in the shade.

   “I’ll think about it,” said Taeyong lowly, staring at his long finished milkshake.

   Yuta’s phone vibrated, the sensation tickling Taeyong’s skin.

   “Lecture’s starting soon,” Yuta said, checking his phone. As Yuta withdrew his arm, it felt like a warm blanket had been removed from around him, and then Taeyong wondered _why_ he compared Yuta to a blanket in the first place.

   Yuta glanced at Taeyong, and he gave his hand a squeeze, his soft fingers clasping around Taeyong’s, just like he always did. “See you later.” He looked at Ten. “Bye, Ten.”

   And in a matter of seconds, Yuta was up and out the door, and Taeyong could feel himself blushing furiously, no matter how foolish it was. Yuta always did that, always broke the non-existent touch barrier between them, so why did it feel so different today?

   (Why did the stars shudder?)

   “Okay,” Ten shook his head, breaking himself out of his thoughts. “Okay.”

   Taeyong frowned.

   “What?”

   Ten shrugged, looking exasperated himself, as if he was trying to figure out an impossible puzzle. As if he’d just encountered a crossroad and had no idea where to go. He finally leaned forward, and Taeyong couldn’t help but be intimidated by him.

   “How long have you been in love with him?”

   Taeyong coughed. “W-what?” Ten stared at him, a knowing smile growing on his face. “No, it’s not like that at all.”

   “Isn’t it?”

   “No.”

   Ten looked at him curiously.

   “Yuta’s right. You lie a lot.”

   Taeyong could feel himself turning redder. “I don’t.” All Ten did was laugh.

   “I genuinely thought that you were a couple until Johnny had to correct me.”

   “That’s your own fault.”

   Ten shook his head. “I don’t think it is. You act like a couple, even if you’re not; you’re obviously in l-” Taeyong was not letting Ten say that out loud again.

   “We’re just friends. Best friends. That’s all we are and that’s all we ever will be.” Even Taeyong could hear the bitterness in his voice. His attempt at feigning indifference had already failed. Taeyong occupied himself with playing with the straw of his milkshake, enjoying the cherry scent from the cup.

   Ten stayed silent, until he finally asked again.

   “How long?”

   “I don’t know,” Taeyong shrugged. “For as long as I can remember.”

   And Taeyong really didn’t know. He couldn’t pinpoint an exact moment when he realised. When the stars emerged and started to shake whenever Yuta even _looked_ at him. Maybe they’d always been there, always chasing him, and Taeyong had simply never noticed.

   “And you’re _never_ going to tell him?” Questioned Ten, the disbelief evident in his voice. Taeyong’s head jerked upwards, his fearsome gaze meeting Ten’s.

   “No, I won’t,” he said. “Don’t tell him. Please don’t tell him, Ten. He can’t know. He can’t ever know, or he’d…”

   “Or he’d what?” Ten asked, challenging him. Taeyong didn’t know exactly what Yuta would do, but the chances of it going to Taeyong’s way were very minimal.

   “He’s my best friend,” said Taeyong, as if that explained everything. He glanced back at the door that Yuta had walked out of a couple of minutes ago, thinking of the warm weight of Yuta’s body next to his, his arm around him, even just lightly. It made him feel so full inside, like a flower garden covered from edge to edge with every bloom in existence.

   Taeyong looked up again, catching Ten watching him inquisitively, like he had thousands of questions and no idea where to start.

   “If you have something to say, just say it already.” Taeyong sighed. He was already used to Johnny’s words, passive aggressively telling Taeyong that it was all okay and that he should _just say something already_ as if it was all that easy.

   “Honestly, I thought you were super smart,” Ten said. “But you’re actually kind of dumb.” He said this while trying not to laugh, as if it was _so_ funny, because he knew something that Taeyong didn’t. Ten continued smiling at him, and Taeyong could have sworn that he saw horns growing out of his head.

   Taeyong stared at his left hand; the one the Yuta usually gave a squeeze, or a tug, or brushed with, and that familiar, warm feeling in his chest began to grow again. The stars shaking at the thought of Yuta’s touch, at the thought of Yuta again, because that was all they ever did. Because they knew what Taeyong wanted.

   (Taeyong wanted too many things.)

   He also wanted Yuta to _stay_ , but the world couldn’t give him everything.

 

-

 

   Taeyong sat in front of the piano, after checking multiple times that the door was indeed locked and that the blinds were closed. Nobody would know he was there, what he was doing, who he was writing for.

   He opened the yellow notebook, flipping through the pages, quickly sketched words of grey pencil, jet black ink pen and blue ballpoint. All words, adjectives, similes and metaphors, stories and descriptions of one person who’d never get to see or hear them.

   A two-hundred page notebook that was almost overflowing with words, with songs for one boy who could never know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> say hi to me on [twitter](http://twitter.com/raventiques/) or [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/raventiques). i love yutae and i love talking about yutae.
> 
> thank you so so much for reading!! i hope that you enjoyed and will stick around for the second part.
> 
> \- Heart♥


	2. on the way home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i really, _really_ hope that you all love this chapter as much as i do and i promise you that these boys will have a happy ending!! there's just A LOT for them to get through first...
> 
> also, for anyone who doesn't know, taeyong's sister is born in '88, making her eight years older than him.
> 
>  **trigger warning** for a drunk scene (nothing too bad though) and ofc a car accident (not graphic) and a very vague sex reference. you may need tissues if you cry easily?? anyways, please read and enjoy!!

    The next time Taeyong went to pick up Yuta from football practice, it was raining. And Ten was with him. Taeyong wondered whether the two events were somehow connected.

   They were both sat underneath a dry area that protected them from the rain, Ten swinging his legs because they were too short to reach the ground. Whenever Taeyong looked out for Yuta, Ten would nudge him with knowing smile, wiggling his eyebrows like a cartoon, which only confirmed Taeyong’s theory that Ten was somehow the spawn of Satan in the body of a regular university student.

   “So you’ve been best friends for four years? Wow, that’s a long time…” Ten said as if it was the answer to the universe. “To be honest, I thought you’d known each other for longer. Maybe it’s because you’re just _really_ close. Like really close.” When Taeyong didn’t respond, Ten continued, frustrated. “Four years is a really long time to hide something, Taeyong.”

   Taeyong’s eyes shot up at him from his phone.

   “And?”

   Ten shrugged, looking out on the pitch. His eyes darted through the sea of red and black, until they briefly landed on Johnny, before quickly darting away again. He shifted, his eyes fixed on the ground.

   Taeyong hummed as he scrolled through his camera roll. Pictures of the sky that he’d taken on various days, pink and orange sunrises, blue and lilac sunsets. He continued scrolling through until he landed on pictures of Yuta that he’d taken on one particular day. Just over a year ago, when Taeyong’s sister came to visit, and insisted on spending a day out in Seoul.

   _You can bring Yuta, if you want._

   She laughed when Taeyong looked at her in disbelief. She’d read his exact thoughts that Taeyong wouldn’t have dared expressed himself. Even after not having seen each other for months, she was still perfect at reading him, knowing him. The only person besides Yuta who could read him from cover to cover.

   (And even then, there were a lot of pages that Taeyong had to rip out.)

   Yuta loved Seoul, thrilled at the idea of exploring. He posed in front of everything, for everything, for Taeyong. That vibrant healing smile making Taeyong’s heart increase two times in size.

   _Taeyong, take this one_.

   He’d ask him, eager and bright. And soon, he’d stop asking, and just pose. Taeyong understood; he always did. He’d take the picture, sometimes two or three, a small smile of his own tugging at his lips, because Yuta looked so… _happy_.

   Sometimes he’d ask to see, but most of the time, he didn’t.

   Yuta leaned across the bridge railing, peering at the sea below him. The air was humid, and the sky was a captivating shade of deep blue. His head rested on his hand, soft hair in waves, the same waves that sat below him. The same waves that Taeyong was engulfed in whenever Yuta was next to him.

   Taeyong couldn’t stop himself from staring – _again –_ because Yuta was Yuta, so it made sense for Taeyong to stare at something so beautiful.

   (Taeyong couldn’t see any stars right now. None in the sky, or the ones in their heart, but he knew that they were trembling violently, shaking the sky that they resided in.)

   _I’m glad you have someone like Yuta in your life_.

   His sister stood beside him, her voice low, not wanting anyone but Taeyong to hear. Taeyong turned to look at her, catching the knowing smile growing on her face. As if she was expecting Taeyong to admit it all then and there.

   He didn’t.

   Instead, Taeyong lifted his phone, the faint shutter sound not startling them at all. If Yuta noticed, he didn’t care. He remained fixated on the sky that he came from, the sun beaming back at him, welcoming him home.

   Taeyong peered at the picture, the memory spilling over, reminding him that his poorly hidden secret wasn’t exactly a secret anymore. It was only a matter of time before the one person he didn’t want to find out, would, and Taeyong couldn’t let that happen.

   He couldn’t face the rejection. He needed more time; more time to pretend, to live in his fantasy world where everything was perfect and Yuta didn’t know a thing.

   “Oh, that’s a nice picture. Did you take that?”

   Ten had scooted up beside him, a mischievous smile on his face, his legs still swinging animatedly.

   Taeyong glared at him and Ten laughed like he’d just made the world’s funniest joke.

   “I’m just making conversation,” he defended himself.

   “We can talk about literally anything else,” said Taeyong.

   “Ah, but you’re not really thinking of anything else, are you?”

   Taeyong frowned at him, putting his phone away in his back pocket. Looking out into the pitch, he made eye contact with Yuta, who smiled cheerfully, giving a small wave. In a split second, his smile was gone, focused on the game in front of him, and Taeyong couldn’t stop himself from smiling.

   The soft sensation in his chest emerged once again.

   (The rain had also stopped, but as if Taeyong would have noticed that when Yuta had just smiled at him.

   Maybe those two events were also connected.)

   “Wow,” Ten said from next to him, obnoxiously loud and exaggerated, only reminding Taeyong that he was _really_ bad at hiding things. “Just wow.”

   “Shut _up_ , Ten.”

 

-

 

   “That one looks nice,” Yuta said, pointing at a deluxe looking two-tiered chocolate cake. Covered with sprinkles, buttons, and other assorted toppings. Taeyong definitely thought that it looked nice, but he shook his head.

   “She’s kind of picky about too much detail. She’s more of a simplistic person, remember?”

   Yuta nodded. They were in a cake shop not too far from campus, hunting for the perfect birthday cake for Taeyong’s sister. Taeyong was lucky enough to have his lecture cancelled that day, and took up the opportunity to hopefully get something productive done that didn’t just involve university work.

   “This one,” Yuta pointed towards a luscious red velvet cake, and Taeyong shook his head immediately.

   “She doesn’t like red velvet.”

   Yuta gasped, offended, and Taeyong couldn’t help but laugh lowly.

   “How can _anyone_ dislike red velvet?”

   Taeyong shrugged, unsure himself. His sister had never really explained why.

   They continued roaming; the cake shop a lot larger than either of them had realised, and they were both content getting completely lost in it, pointing out the elaborate, extravagant cakes that neither of them would ever be able to afford.

   (Yuta tried the free sample of mini brownies, insisting that they were nowhere near as good as Taeyong’s.

   Taeyong really couldn’t tell whether he was joking or not.)

   “So you admit that mine were good?” Taeyong asked him, unable to hide the surprise in his voice.

   Yuta hummed at him, pulling Taeyong’s shoulder towards the next aisle. The feeling of Yuta’s arm around him made Taeyong’s heart race, beating faster than any rhythm a piano would ever be able to recreate.

   Quickly scanning the other aisles that they walked past, Taeyong’s heart halted when eyes landed on a row of wedding cakes. All in their white and ivory glory, metallic and marble, ruffles and rosettes and flowers. _So many flowers_ , in several shapes and sizes.

   There was no mistaking the delicate, cherry blossoms that wrapped around one of the snow-coloured cakes. The sight was bittersweet; he could have pointed it out to Yuta in another world. In a perfect world where they weren’t just browsing for birthday cakes for his sister.

   _You have to be next, now_.

   That’s what one of Taeyong’s aunts had said to him at his sister’s wedding, nudging him while he stood by the drinks table while he poured himself another glass of water because he couldn’t bring himself to drink anything else.

   Taeyong froze as his aunt watched him. She laughed upon seeing his expression, cheering about how young Taeyong was, and that he still had _time_. Time to meet someone, to fall in love, to decide that he wanted to be with them for the rest of his life.

   _Unless you’ve already met someone? Someone you’re not telling us about?_

She regarded him, taking a sip of her wine, while Taeyong still gaped at her, unsure of what to say. Unsure, because he’d already completed the first two steps, maybe even the third.

   There was the minor complication that this someone didn’t and would never return his feelings.

   Taeyong’s attention was brought back when he felt Yuta tugging him closer. “What about this one?” Taeyong followed Yuta’s eyes, examining Yuta’s suggestion. It looked nice enough; a perfect size for what would be a small get together with twenty people maximum.

   “It’s a chiffon cake,” Yuta said, leaning closely towards Taeyong, his breath tickling Taeyong’s skin. Taeyong tried his best to ignore that delicate feeling in his chest, with Yuta so close to him, linking arms. He cleared his throat.

   “I know but…” he tilted his head to the side, and Yuta did the same. “It’s a little too plain, don’t you think?”

   “Well, you can always have it decorated. She likes strawberries, right?”

   Before Taeyong could answer, his phone started ringing, loudly and sharply. Taking a look, Taeyong blinked in surprise when he saw that it was Taeil ringing him. The two were both on the same course, and regularly partnered up for projects, since Taeil was by far one of the best musicians that Taeyong knew.

   Reluctantly, he detached his arm from Yuta’s, answering the call.

   “Taeil hyung?”

   “Taeyong! Did you get the e-mail?”

   Taeyong frowned. “What e-mail?”

   “The cancelled lecture is back on,” said Taeil. Taeyong groaned, silently cursing his luck. Just when he had a spare day, just when he could spend some uninterrupted time with Yuta-

   “Okay. I’ll be there. Thanks for telling me.”

   Taeyong hung up the call, looking towards Yuta, who peered at an assortment of cupcakes of various colours – from pastel pinks, to explosive greens, and plain greys. He looked so fascinated, his lips twisting in curiosity, and Taeyong’s heart sank at the idea of having to leave.

   “I have to go,” Taeyong spoke. Yuta looked at him, his eyebrows furrowing for a split second before he attempted to smile.

   “O-okay. Why?”

   “My cancelled lecture is back on...”

   “Oh. Yeah, you should go.” Yuta’s forced smile didn’t do anything to mask the disappointment in his eyes, and Taeyong couldn’t help the guilt that sat in his stomach. Yuta stepped forward, grabbing Taeyong’s left hand and giving it a squeeze. “Don’t feel bad. Go.”

   “Sorry,” Taeyong apologised anyway. And he wasn’t sure whether he was only apologising for leaving.

   He wrote about this, about his thoughts, his memories, his desires. His perfect world where things went his way, where he could slip into Yuta’s bed and cuddle up next to him at the end of a long day, because _that_ was really what Taeyong wanted.

   Instead, he sat on his cold bed, after his evening lecture, feeling empty besides those pathetic stars in his chest that he couldn’t shake away.

   A couple of days later, when Taeyong sat down for lunch, Yuta pushed a small cupcake towards him. Monochrome, with a black musical note on the top. Plain and simple, even though Taeyong was far more complicated than that.

   Taeyong wrote about that, too.

 

-

 

   “So,” Johnny caught up to him outside of campus, just as Taeyong was about to head home. “When are you going do it?”

   Taeyong ignored the question. “Do you always follow me around campus?”

   “You’re easy to follow.” Taeyong shrugged. “When are you going do it?” He repeated, more persistent this time.

   “Do what?” Taeyong asked nonchalantly, glimpsing up at the sky, doing his best to avoid the conversation.

   “Don’t play dumb again.”

   “I genuinely don’t know what you’re talking about, Johnny.”

   Johnny’s brows furrowed, folding his arms.

   “When are you telling Yuta?”

   Taeyong briefly stopped in his tracks, before he continued walking again, shoving his hands in his pockets. “There’s nothing to tell him.”

   Johnny sighed. “You’re still in denial.”

   “And so what if I am?” Taeyong snapped. “Just because I feel a certain way doesn’t mean I want to act on it.”

   Johnny blinked, taken aback. “I just thought…you seemed a lot closer recently. At the diner yesterday…”

   Yes, at the diner yesterday. Where Yuta insisted on sitting next to Taeyong when Johnny almost sat next to him, and proceeded to keep him arm around him for the entire time. That was just a distance thing; Yuta was Yuta, so of course he was clingy when he hadn’t seen Taeyong in a couple of days. He was always like that. It didn’t mean anything.

   (Though, Taeyong would be lying if he said that his heart wasn’t beating twice as fast as normal the entire time.)

   Ten wouldn’t stop grinning at them like an idiot. 

   “That wasn’t anything special,” Taeyong muttered, and Johnny sighed again.

   “Denial.”

   Taeyong frowned. “I’m _not_ in denial, Johnny. I just…”

   Johnny peered at him, waiting for Taeyong to finish his sentence, but there were too many words. He knew too much, his thoughts couldn’t settle enough in his brain for him to say anything. Taeyong sighed.

   “Johnny, he can’t know. Ever.”

   “Ever,” repeated Johnny, his voice hard and glacial. “So you’re just going to live the rest of your life, unhappy, while the guy you’re in love with throws himself into meaningless relationships that never go anywhere. Is that what you mean?”

   Taeyong blinked. “It’s-”

   “And say if he does somehow, miraculously meet someone else, where does that put you? Unable to move on, remaining miserable, because of words you never said?”

   “I _won’t_.”

   “Oh?” Johnny stopped walking, his eyes fixated on Taeyong. “Look me in the eye and tell me that you _honestly_ believe you could ever stop loving Yuta. That you could ever move on.”

   Taeyong hesitated, Johnny’s words stinging slightly. The idea of not loving Yuta, not feeling that familiar sensation in his chest around him, was foreign to Taeyong, a concept that he couldn’t fathom. Even if Yuta cruelly rejected him, stopped talking to him with no further contact, if he did eventually decide to move back to Osaka and never return, Taeyong would never truly get over it. He could never forget, not with his yellow notebook at hand, almost flooded with unspoken confessions. Not with years of memories, thoughts, emotions that he never thought he could feel until Yuta walked into his life.

   Not with all those stars in his chest.

   (They’d never shake again, but they’d _always_ be there.)

   Johnny stood there, his arms folded across his chest, waiting for Taeyong to admit that he _couldn’t_ , because they both knew that Taeyong felt too much to ever forget.

   And how could he?

   Yuta was soft smiles and delicate touches. Yuta was walking you home and remembering your favourite foods and staying up until 2am texting about nothing. Yuta was _healing_ , the calm before and after the storm, the sun personified, stargazing because he felt like it, even though he was a star himself. Yuta was like listening to a new song for the first time, and knowing that it would be your favourite. Yuta was warmth, fragility, duty and vulnerability all wrapped into one and _more_. Yuta was _everything_ and more.

   Yuta was Yuta, so it only made sense for Taeyong to fall in love with him.

 

-

 

   _You should kiss me._

Taeyong reclined on the couch in his living room, a hand on his throbbing forehead. Yuta had taken in upon himself to drag him home, after the first and last time that Taeyong ever got drunk. He’d only just turned of age, and maybe he was too excited to start drinking, and maybe he went overboard with accepting the drink offers because of his birthday. Now, he was a drunken mess, Yuta having to haul him from Jaehyun’s party and make sure that he made it through the night in one piece.

   Yuta paused from where he was taking off Taeyong’s shoes, Taeyong couldn’t remember his facial expression, but he imagined that he blinked in surprise, Taeyong’s unanticipated boldness shocking him.

   _W-what?_

_I said, you should k-kiss me._

He sounded clearer this time, but his words still sounded muffled under the weight of his arm. Taeyong lifted his head up, catching Yuta’s eye, who stared right back at him as if he had no idea who Taeyong was.

   He began to shake his head.

   _You’re drunk, Taeyong._

He got up and left for the kitchen, returning soon after with a glass of water and a damp face cloth.

   He muttered something about Taeyong needing to co-operate, and Taeyong probably did; he didn’t remember everything. Only enough to remind him that he was only a couple of words away from accidently confessing to his best friend.

   _Yutaaa._

He’d just put down the now empty glass of water, his face dangerously close to Taeyong’s. Taeyong could smell his alcohol scented breath, and then and there, he wanted Yuta to kiss him so badly. It wouldn’t be a _real_ kiss – because Taeyong would be drunk, and Yuta would be a little tipsy, and since Taeyong begged Yuta to do it, it would be easy to just blame it all on the alcohol. Yuta wouldn’t have to know the real reason why. They could kiss and nothing between them would have to change.

   _Yuta, you should kiss me._

Yuta paused again, his piercing eyes firmly fixed on Taeyong, trying to search for sincerity in his words. Because it had to be some kind of joke, right?

   _Why?_

Taeyong couldn’t remember what exactly he did. He likely bit his lip, his own eyes never leaving Yuta’s, because that’s all he ever seemed to do around him.

   _Because I want to know what it’s like._

Yuta continued watching him, his look unchanging. Taeyong could hear his own deep breathing, his heart beating more than it should be. The cold water and face cloth did nothing to stop him from flushing red, and Yuta’s lips looked so soft and pink-

   He just _really_ wanted Yuta to kiss him. Right now.

   _You should go to sleep._

_But I want you to kiss me._

   Yuta continued watching him, nibbling his bottom lip that Taeyong couldn’t stop staring at. It looked _so_ soft, and Yuta looked so pretty in the faint living room lighting. His eyes quickly glanced down at Taeyong’s lips and Taeyong suddenly wanted to drunkenly run his fingers through Yuta’s hair as they kissed on the couch, hushed and breathless.

   Carefully, Yuta held Taeyong’s jaw in one of his warm hands and let it linger there, as if he was still considering, weighing up the consequences. His hand was so _big_ and fit like a jigsaw upon touching Taeyong’s face. He hesitantly leaned forward. His eyes never once leaving Taeyong’s, Taeyong holding his breath, because he didn’t think that this would actually happen. That he’d ever get the chance to feel Yuta’s lips against his own and-

   Yuta leaned in, taking his time and Taeyong didn’t know whether he wanted Yuta to hurry up or to let him take it slow. He could feel Yuta’s breath on his face, the goosebumps on his own skin evident.

   He waited for their lips to meet.

   But they didn’t.

   Yuta delayed, staying in front of Taeyong, the grip of his hand loosening slightly and all Taeyong could think was that he should just close the gap and kiss Yuta instead.

   Instead, Taeyong felt a soft kiss on his burning cheek. It wasn’t what Taeyong meant, not exactly what he wanted, but it still had to count, right? Yuta still kissed him, even if it wasn’t where Taeyong wanted it most.

   _Not like that_.

   Yuta continued staring at him, as if he was still considering, his hand still on Taeyong’s jaw. They both knew what Taeyong meant, even if his words were slurred and barely above a whisper.

   Yuta bit his lip and began to shake his head. His hand abruptly dropped from Taeyong’s, willing himself to look away from him. He mumbled about how Taeyong was only drunk, because that way, it would prove that it wasn’t real. That it didn’t mean anything.

   _I…can’t kiss you, Taeyong._

_Whyyy?_

His drunken state made him drown out the word, whining like a teenager complaining about housework, demanding an explanation that he’d never get.

   Yuta just stood above him, running a hand through his hair, and Taeyong wanted to run his fingers through Yuta’s hair, too.

   Taeyong asked him again, and Yuta just shook his head, looking slightly perplexed. Taeyong stared at his soft lips and wondered whether they felt as beautiful as they looked.

   _You’re drunk._

Yuta said it as if it explained everything, as if Taeyong was just supposed to understand, to get it. Taeyong was drunk. He knew he was drunk. That’s why he wanted Yuta to do it _now_.

   _But would you kiss me if I wasn’t drunk?_

Yuta blinked at him in disbelief. The words must have hit hard, and if there was anything that Taeyong really regretting about that night, it was that sentence. How stupid, how careless, for Taeyong to say something so daring and impenitent. Something that a sober Taeyong would never say to anyone in a million years.

Taeyong grunted as he stretched his arms above his head. He could feel the fatigue hitting his body; maybe he _did_ need to go to sleep. Yuta continued watching him, as if shifting his gaze would result in Taeyong whining again, like a child who didn’t get their own way. Taeyong had long since accepted that he’d never get what he wanted, but that didn’t mean that he couldn’t make weak attempts while intoxicated.

   _Please go to sleep, Taeyong._

He sounded exasperated, a touch of desperation in his voice, and Taeyong started to feel guilty for making Yuta uncomfortable like that. Yuta didn’t want to kiss him, and he’d never want to kiss him. It was selfish to think that he would, just because Taeyong was stupid enough to make himself drunk and plead like a child.

Taeyong did eventually sleep, his head still aching and his lips dry from where he wished that Yuta’s lips could have brushed against them. He thought too much about kissing Yuta, about being with Yuta, having Yuta hold him, and he was thankful that he hadn’t let the alcohol say anything more.

   Yuta didn’t bring it up the next day, or the day after that. Or ever again.

   Likely, because it was awkward, he wanted to forget that Taeyong was ever foolish enough to ask his best friend to kiss him, because who did that? Mentioning it would only make Taeyong remember, and Taeyong was certain that Yuta wanted him to forget.

   He didn’t.

   That didn’t stop Taeyong from wondering what could have happened if one of them brought it up. If Yuta had questioned him about it, if he was curious enough and asked Taeyong why he seemed so desperate for Yuta to kiss him that night.

   Maybe things would be different. Maybe they’d be together right now, kissing on the couch and on the bed and against the wall. Or maybe, they’d be far apart, avoiding each other, because it was all one-sided, unrequited, and Taeyong had to acknowledge that reality whether he liked it or not.

   Taeyong wished that he could forget it, but every time he tried to, the stars would always force him to remember.

 

-

 

   The February weather had taken a shocking turn and decided to rain nonstop for an entire week, coupled with intense winds that made a short trip to the corner shop seem like a hike. And to end it all, frost appeared out of nowhere, the temperatures dropping, making walks around campus hazardous.

   It was only _then_ that football practice was cancelled, but by then, it was too late. Yuta had already caught a cold.

   The weather had calmed down now, going back to the typical hued skies and humid air, almost as if the odd break in the weather never even happened.

   (Maybe the world was just having a bad time, too.)

   Taeyong opened the door to Yuta’s apartment with ease. It was absurdly hot, the heating turned up to the maximum. The sound of incoherent speech made Taeyong pause in the hallway, but that barely mattered, because Yuta’s bedroom door was wide open, and he saw Taeyong clearly.

   He looked up, giving him a small smile, his eyes and nose red from sickness, but still bright and beautiful and _shining_. He had his laptop in front of him and Taeyong could tell from the sound of Japanese that he was talking to some of his family.

   “Taeyong is here,” he said in Korean, gesturing for Taeyong to come closer. Taeyong obliged, leaning over the laptop to see that Yuta was talking to his younger sister. She smiled at him, once the tiny, puppy-like thirteen-year-old who gripped her older brother’s wrist wherever they went because she _didn’t know any Korean and didn’t want to learn Korean why did we have to move to Korea when we could have stayed in Osaka with grandma_ -

   She was sixteen now, and looked completely exhausted, but she greeted him anyway.

   “Taeyong…so handsome,” she said slowly in Korean. Taeyong couldn’t even get irritated at the compliment on his looks. He had to give her credit for trying Korean and at least retaining some of it, when she was originally too stubborn to bother learning. Even if she did sound like she was reciting items from a shopping list. “I remember you. Very nice. My brother loves you.”

   Taeyong froze at the final sentence, attempting to tell those stupid stars to _calm_ down and remind himself that this was someone with limited Korean skills who _clearly_ didn’t mean what Taeyong wished it could mean. It _clearly_ wasn’t like that and it would never be like that.

   Yuta must have noticed, because he laughed lowly and said something in Japanese that Taeyong couldn’t understand. His own Japanese skills were notoriously weak, and whenever Taeyong brought up trying to learn, Yuta laughed and told Taeyong that it was too stressful, and too much.

   _And I’m basically your translator, right?_

   Taeyong hummed.

   Yuta waved bye, and Taeyong did the same. Yuta’s sister overloaded her side of the screen with flying kisses and hearts until she finally gave in and said goodbye.

   The laptop switched back to its home screen – a photograph of striking mountains back dropped by a string of stars against an indigo sky.

   Yuta looked at Taeyong, a small smile on his face that still somehow managed to reach his eyes, as if he couldn’t believe that Taeyong was there. “You came.”

   Taeyong blinked.

   “Of course I did.”

   They stared at each other for some time, Taeyong sat close next Yuta, his knee pressed into his thigh, his hand way too close, and suddenly, Taeyong didn’t want to be any closer.

   (He did. He definitely did.)

   He stood up too quickly, making Yuta blink in surprise. He lifted the white plastic bag that he brought with him, searching its contents.

   “I bought this medicine,” he lifted it up in front of him. Yuta frowned.

   “I already have some.”

   “You only buy the cheap stuff that doesn’t actually work. _This_ will actually do something,” he placed it on the bedside table. “One dose every four hours. You’re also not drinking enough water.”

   “I-”

   “Tea doesn’t count, Yuta. You need _water_.” He inched the water bottle in front of him, giving Yuta no choice but to take a sip. For a football player, Yuta hardly ever drank water, and it was quite bizarre. “I also made some rice for you that I’ll leave in the fridge. You just need to warm it and have it whenever you can. Preferably today, though.” He also took out some fever tablets, cough drops and pain killers. “You didn’t really give any specifics, so I just got a little bit of everything.”

   Taeyong set the bag down, met with Yuta’s tired eyes gazing at him, and the stars start shaking again, but Taeyong couldn’t pinpoint _why_ exactly.

   He looked like he wanted to say something, like he was _going_ to say something, like he was searching for the right words among an ocean of nouns and verbs.

   “I…you’re amazing, Taeyong.”

   Even though his voice sounded hoarse and faint, it still sounded so genuine, like the tip of an iceberg, containing way more meaning than originally conveyed.

   Before either of them could say anything more, Yuta started coughing and promptly took a sip of water.

   “I can’t believe you still had to go to practice in that weather.”

   Yuta shrugged. “It was only twice.”

   “Just once is enough for you to get sick.”

   “Yeah,” Yuta said nonchalantly, staring out of the window as if he was looking for something. The blinds were wide open, the dim evening rays of the sun shining through. “I’ve been watching the sunrise a lot, lately,” he mused. “With the window wide open. It’s healing.”

   Taeyong wanted to reply by saying that Yuta wasn’t broken in the first place, but Taeyong didn’t even know that Yuta had been watching the sunrise, so maybe there were a lot of other things that Taeyong didn’t know.

   (Taeyong also wanted to ask to join him, but it didn’t seem like there was an invitation involved.)

   The sunlight illuminated Yuta’s face, making his eyes sparkle like diamonds, the most precious diamonds in the universe.

   (Diamonds seemed transparent, but things always came out slightly distorted.)

   “What’s wrong?” Taeyong eventually asked, because Yuta was doing that _thing_ again in which he was quiet and distant and stared at the sky like it was Osaka and he wanted to go back.

   Yuta turned to him, pausing, gathering his words, but the words were water, and trying to keep hold of them was completely ineffectual.

   “I just don’t want us to grow apart,” he said quietly, so quietly that Taeyong had to strain to hear, and once he did, his heart almost dropped. It seemed too out of place for Yuta to say something like that, especially now, but a part of Taeyong had the feeling that this wasn’t the first time he’d thought this.

   “W-what do you mean?” Taeyong asked, biting his lip, because seeing Yuta upset made his entire world crumble and fall, and Taeyong would rebuild it himself, with every root, every rock, every brick, if he had to.

   Yuta shrugged. “It’s stupid, I know.”

   “It’s not stupid,” Taeyong assured him, sitting on the bed again, because he didn’t care about distance anymore. He didn’t care about whether his heart would leap out of his chest when he could feel Yuta’s skin against his, because Yuta was upset, and it was somehow Taeyong’s fault. “If it’s important to you, it’s not stupid.”

   Silence.

   “We used to walk home together every day and that’s all stopped now.”

   Taeyong paused. “Oh.”

   “I know it’s dumb-”

   “It isn’t.”

   Taeyong hesitantly rested his hand against Yuta’s, not used to initiating physical contact, because he _knew_ how it made him feel, like sparks were flying in his heart and there was no way for him to repress it. Yuta was always warm, always radiating heat, and Taeyong was certain that it was because he had a part of the sun in him. In his eyes, in his smile, against his skin.

   Taeyong couldn’t think of anything to say, his throat dry for words. Yuta’s words rang true, reminding him of his own constant thoughts. His own turmoil, because one day, Yuta and Taeyong wouldn’t be Yuta and Taeyong anymore. One day, Taeyong’s feelings would overtake him and he’d do or say something senseless, and Yuta would be mad at him, and then Yuta would _leave_. Even unintentionally, they’d stop talking, stop visiting each other, desperately trying to wrap themselves in the label of _best friends_ , but in reality, they’d be as close as the sea and the sky.

   Taeyong had his own reasons for being scared, and a small, hopeful part him thought that _maybe_ Yuta had the same reasons, _maybe_ Yuta felt the same. Maybe he was scared too, because he wanted to same thing.

   (Taeyong really wasn’t _that_ hopeful. He threw that sense of false hope away into the void, so that he couldn’t bring it up again and let it coax him into letting it all go.)

   “I’m sorry,” was all that he could bring himself to say, a low hum of sadness and regret, and Taeyong didn’t really know what he was apologising for. For inevitably leaving, for being so scared, for feeling more than he should.

   Yuta shook his head. “It’s not your fault.” His hand relaxed under Taeyong’s, settling itself like it was always supposed to be there. “It’s not.”

   Their eyes met again, and if Taeyong wasn’t so afraid, if he didn’t let his emotions corner and torture him until it was unbearable, he really would have kissed Yuta then and there, cold be dammed. He wanted this, Taeyong hated to admit, he wanted to kiss Yuta and tell him that he felt _more_ and that there was no reason to worry, because Taeyong’s presence would always be as constant as the stars that possessed his heart.

   And as he stared into Yuta’s eyes, his hand on his, absorbing all of his warmth, his _light_ , they began to shake.

   Yuta didn’t have to ask, but Taeyong stayed.

   They sat with Yuta’s laptop in front of them, surrounded by unhealthy food because it’s what Yuta wanted and it made him happy, so that was enough of a reason. They had Kiki's Delivery Service’s playing in the background with Korean subtitles, because Taeyong _knew_ that it was Yuta’s favourite movie, even if he’d never admitted it.

   The warm weight of Yuta’s body next to his was…distracting to say the least, and even though he’d occasionally cough and sneeze and ask Taeyong to pass him his tea, Taeyong enjoyed his presence, enjoyed being next to him.

   (When didn’t he?)

   Yuta would point out small details in the movie, trying to pause at the right moment to find something, telling Taeyong trivia and facts that he’d heard countless of times before. But Taeyong wouldn’t dare interrupt him, because Yuta looked like Yuta again, his smile effortful but its glow effortless. It almost felt like they were back in high school, when it was mostly them, and they had all of the time to spend together, when Taeyong didn’t have to worry about the fact that Yuta could get up and leave at any time.

   When they were just friends and Taeyong knew that he was always going to be content with that.

   (Sometimes, he felt that he spent more time watching Yuta than he did watching the movie.)

   He wanted this, too. He wanted to intertwine his hand with Yuta’s and kiss his warm cheek and cuddle up against him and listen to his heartbeat – as cliché as it was. The sun was burning him, fiery-hot, covering him in its harsh beams, and Taeyong didn’t want to hide anymore.

   _He wanted this_.

   He wanted it so much that it pained him, trying to pretend that he didn’t. Trying to pretend that he really would always be okay if nothing ever changed, trying to pretend that he didn’t want Yuta in every way it was possible to want a person. Trying to pretend that Yuta didn’t mean the entire world to him.

   Instead, he sat next to Yuta on his warm bed, forcing himself to look at the screen and not at the boy he desperately wanted to kiss.

   (Taeyong wanted to cry.)

   Yuta must have noticed the odd change in Taeyong’s demeanour. He paused, asking Taeyong if he was okay, and Taeyong lied through his teeth that he was _fine_ even though they both knew that he wasn’t really.

   Yuta gave his hand a squeeze, short and light, and _healing_. Without even realising, Taeyong turned to him, to his sun, to the cause of all of this. And Taeyong swore that not just the stars, but entire constellations that he never even knew resided in chest, they were _bursting_ , deafening and completely terrifying.

   Taeyong had fallen long ago, but now, now he had plummeted entirely, thrown into the deep end, and there was no going back.

 

-

 

   Taeyong had never been good at describing things. For someone who adored music, he was weak on lyrics, and reading over his own imperfect words made Taeyong recognise that he didn’t know exactly how he felt.

   Not enough words in the world could describe how he felt, and maybe that was why he had so much difficulty understanding it himself.

   He knew what he _wanted_. What he desired. He wanted Yuta to kiss him, to kiss Yuta, to be lost for words after kissing him because Taeyong knew that the cosmos lay among Yuta’s lips.

   He caught himself staring at Yuta – specifically at his lips – a lot lately. Yuta noticed. Of course he noticed, with a sheepish smile on his face as he self-consciously covered his lips with his fingers. Taeyong cursed the alluring night sky for making Yuta’s rose-coloured lips look more kissable than ever, and making Yuta uncomfortable with all of the staring as a result. All subtlety lost in a forest of cherry blossoms and wishes.

   (“Trust me, you were _never_ subtle,” Ten needlessly reminded him when Taeyong tried to express this. As expected, Ten thought that Taeyong was just being a coward, hiding from the rain instead of dancing in it.)

   He wrote about Yuta’s lips and what he imagined they felt like, soft and warm, as delicate as the abstract watercolour paintings that hung on Yuta’s bedroom walls. Impossible to describe but easy to understand.

   Taeyong thought that anyone who got the chance to kiss Nakamoto Yuta was the luckiest person in the world.

   He wrote extensively about how beautiful Yuta was. This wasn’t something that he needed to imagine; it was a fact of life, something unmistakable, guaranteed, like the sun hanging in the sky and blessing the world with someone like Yuta.

   Yuta was beautiful, but nothing could compare to how striking he looked in the sunlight, with his piercing, ocean eyes that shone brighter than the sun and stars combined. And that wondrous smile, _his smile-_

   “I like this one,” Yuta chimed from the market stall. Something that Yuta secretly loved, but didn’t have the chance to often do. He adored small decorates and details, and it didn’t take much convincing for Taeyong to come along when the sun had barely finished rising. “What do you think, Taeyong?”

   Yuta looked up from whatever he was holding. Taeyong had no idea what it was, and wasn’t concerned with knowing, because the sun hit Yuta’s face perfectly, the soft beams caressing his cheekbones, making him look _golden_. He glowed against the sunlight, his eyes looking lustrous, the wide smile on his face making Taeyong’s heart melt.

   Taeyong was certain that he could see the entire universe in Yuta’s eyes, and he had to remind himself how to breathe, because Yuta looked so, _so_ beautiful.

   How could _anyone_ be that beautiful?

   He wrote about other things, too. When Yuta would wrap his arm around him, Taeyong wrote about the earthquake it made him feel, an earthquake in which he didn’t want to take cover. He wrote about how much he yearned for more, to slip his hand into Yuta’s, to have Yuta hug him from behind with his strong arms.

   It was sad, how much he thought, how much he wrote, _what_ he wrote. Who was he even writing for? Himself? So that he’d always be reminded of how much he craved something that he could never have?

   Taeyong couldn’t help the guilt that rose in his stomach whenever he thought about falling asleep on Yuta’s chest, waking up next to his heavenly face in the morning. How completely wrong it was to want _even more_. To want to hear Yuta’s faint gasps as Taeyong kissed his neck, to be left breathless by his touch, his back arched for him, hip and thigh kisses aplenty.

   Taeyong sat in front of the piano, which had now become an acquaintance to him, whenever he could feel himself feeling too much at once. It wasn’t as simple as being able to look Yuta in the eye and tell him everything. Somehow, simply saying those three words didn’t feel like enough, because Taeyong knew that he felt _more_.

   He wrote. He wrote, and he thought and he played until his fingers were numb. Until his eyes swelled, until he couldn’t mutter the lyrics under his breath properly anymore, because he felt too much. He felt too much and his feelings were too strong.

   He was in love with Nakamoto Yuta and there wasn’t anything he could do about it.

 

-

 

   Taeyong was sat with Johnny again, at one of the lunch tables, and for once, they weren’t talking about Taeyong.

   Instead, Johnny was bashfully telling him about how he thought that Ten was really cute, his cheeks reddening when he brought up how Ten offered to walk him home every day for the past two weeks. And even though Taeyong was still partly convinced that Ten was the devil in disguise, he couldn’t help but nod in understanding.

   It made sense, Taeyong thought. Johnny was a lot quieter around Ten these days, frequently getting lost just by staring at him until Ten would catch his look and start grinning like he knew exactly what was going on. Taeyong wondered whether _he_ was always that obvious.

   “Yes, you were,” Johnny said without hesitation. “You always were.”

   Taeyong pouted, but he knew that Johnny was right.

   “And you?” Johnny asked him. Taeyong blinked, confused about where he came into the conversation.

   “What about me?”

   Johnny titled his head to one side, his eyebrows rising in curiosity. “What made you fall for him?”

   Taeyong pondered, probing his brain for the least complicated answer he could give. The truth was, there were too many reasons, an abundance of reasons, and it was impossible for Taeyong to pinpoint a single characteristic, a single moment, where his mind changed. Where he realised that he craved more, craved Yuta’s arms around him, craved feeling his lips against his own, craved those soft touches in the morning while waking each other up.

   It was painful, longing for something that he could never have. Taeyong pushed the pitiful thoughts to the back of his mind, saving them for his yellow notebook, his specialised tunes that he’d play later, and decided to summarise instead.

   “He stayed,” Taeyong finally said, the two words triggering a range of memories. “He stayed when he didn’t have to. When nobody else did.”

   _I thought you were going back to Japan._

Taeyong asked him a week into the summer. Back when Taeyong had just turned eighteen, back when they were the same height and back before Taeyong let his feelings grip and shake him to his core.

   Yuta looked at him from where he sat opposite Taeyong, on the rich grass in the park. He looked startled by the sudden question, his lips apart, hesitant to respond.

   _I am. Later._

Taeyong continued watching him, his curiosity taking the lead. Always asking, pushing for more, because it was all that he knew.

_Why?_

Yuta looked down at his long legs, biting his lips. The soft waves of his hair fell around his eyes, and Taeyong wanted to lean forward and pull them back.

   _I asked if I could stay here for one more week._

Taeyong asked again. Completely baffled as to why Yuta would not only choose, but _ask_ to say in Seoul for a week longer. He’d spent the entire year talking about Osaka, going back to Osaka for the summer, being able to spend his summer there under their flawless blue skies and lush gardens. Taeyong was certain that Yuta didn’t love anything more than he loved Osaka, so why did he sacrifice a week in Osaka to stay in Seoul?

   _Well, you couldn’t spend the entire summer alone, could you?_

He smiled, but his voice sounded anything but confident. He only looked at Taeyong briefly when he said this, before looking up at the sky again, flushed. The sun beamed down at him, and Yuta eventually contended himself with lying on his back, taking in all of the light.

   Taeyong’s mind couldn’t help but fixate on Yuta’s words. Nobody had ever _stayed_ with him before. Not like Yuta had. Taeyong was convinced that Yuta had only become friends with him out of convenience, and would leave once he started becoming popular enough, but that never happened.

   He stayed. He always stayed. He stayed when Taeyong was ill for two full weeks and he visited every day. He stayed when Taeyong’s mother was in hospital and they weren’t sure if she was going to make it. He stayed even when Taeyong tried to push him away, when he lied because the piano was strictly supposed to be for him only.

   He stayed when he shut out his feelings because it was better than sharing them. He stayed when he could have moved on, when he could have had it better, _someone_ , better.

   And as Taeyong lay next to Yuta in the sun, stealing glances whenever he could, he knew that he’d always be willing to stay for Yuta, too.

   _You should come to Osaka._

They were at the airport, the sun shimmering through the wide windows. Taeyong had never been to an airport before, and he’ll admit that it made him uneasy, not knowing exactly what anything meant. It was full of people, so many people bustling through the masses, bags of various sizes. A contrast to Yuta and his single suitcase and sports bag.

   Taeyong’s sister was there; she offered to drive them, and he could feel her eyes on him through the rear window whenever Taeyong looked in Yuta’s direction.

   _What do you mean?_

Yuta laughed, probably the last time that Taeyong would see that killing smile for a month or so.

   _I mean what I mean. You should see Osaka sometime._

 _Oh_.

   _You’d love it. The sunsets are beautiful there; you could take all of the photos in the world. And the food…_

He paused upon seeing Taeyong’s face, as if he was lost for words, unable to talk about the one thing that he could never stop talking about.

   _Come with me._

The sentence took Taeyong by surprise. Even Yuta looked stunned by his own mini outburst, blinking at himself. He looked down at his passport, the oversized white t-shirt he wore making him look like a lost child.

   _Maybe one day._

It was all Taeyong could bring himself to say, and if Taeyong had to identify a defining moment, the first time he really felt his thoughts change, when he felt the first drop of rain before the storm, it would be right there.

   Yuta smiled at him, saying something about being back soon, in university together where they’d practically be joined at the hip – as if they already weren’t.

   He watched Yuta walk away, where Taeyong couldn’t follow. Taeyong wanted more than anything for him to stay even longer.

   The stars began to shine.

   (Taeyong also thought about Yuta a lot that summer. More than he’d like to admit.)

   Johnny suddenly perked up, nudging Taeyong’s arm with his own. “It’s your prince.”

   Taeyong sat up himself, instantly awake, and Johnny smiled slyly. Maybe he and Ten really were meant for each other, united by Taeyong’s red face and captured heart.

   Taeyong turned around in his seat, surprised to catch Yuta’s gaze already on him.

   (A strange concept, because Taeyong had never _really_ caught Yuta staring at him before. It was always the other way around, always Taeyong being caught, Taeyong doing the pining.)

   His eyebrows were furrowed slightly, but his face softened once he met Taeyong’s eyes. They surveyed each other for a beat, and Taeyong was suddenly aware of the fact that Yuta is walking over.

   Taeyong turned back around, catching Johnny smiling against his drink.

   “ _Stop it_ ,” Taeyong warned him before he could do or say anything more. Johnny shrugged.

   “I didn’t say anything.”

   Taeyong folded his arms. “What do you mean ‘my prince’?”

   “Is he not?” Johnny asked him, eyebrows raised. Taeyong wanted to say _no_ , but he’d be lying if that’s exactly what he referred to Yuta as in one of his many songs.

   Taeyong opened his mouth to reply, when he felt a familiar hand on his back. He looked up at Yuta, who looked straight at Johnny.

   “Hey. What are we talking about?”

   “Ah…” Johnny hesitated, looking at Taeyong for help, but Yuta wasn’t talking to Taeyong. “My birthday.”

   Yuta blinked, clearly not believing him. He looked at Taeyong for clarification, who bit his lip to stop himself from laughing at the worst cover up he’d ever heard. Taeyong nodded anyway.

   “Your birthday was last month,” Yuta said, his tone completely flat.

   “Yes.”

   Yuta didn’t respond, taking a seat next to Taeyong, pulling his chair up as close as possible. He looked at Taeyong, and Taeyong looked back, still feeling slightly uneasy under his gaze. But he also enjoyed it at the same time, this strange game of who could make the other collapse first.

   (Taeyong collapsed long ago, a mound of rocks shaken by a single stone.)

   His eyes momentarily glanced down to Yuta’s lips again, managing to stop himself before he stared too much, before the stars in his heart all simultaneously exploded. Before he’d make Yuta look away again, because _Yuta didn’t want to kiss him_.

   Johnny let out an exasperated breath, muttering something in English that Taeyong didn’t really understand. Yuta eyed him.

   “What?”

   “Nothing,” Johnny took a sip of his water, smiling as if he knew something that they didn’t. Not even Taeyong could make out what it was. “But Taeyong knows _exactly_ what I’m talking about.”

   “No I don’t,” Taeyong replied a little too quickly. “I don’t know what he’s talking about,” he said to Yuta. Yuta surveyed the two of them, his eyebrows furrowing.

   Taeyong felt the familiar, dainty fingers around his waist, and let out a deep breath. His eyes met Yuta’s once again, and he could already feel the stars exploding, leaving behind their own tingling sensations, dancing in his heart.

 

-

 

   Hearing Johnny constantly gush about his crush on Ten made Taeyong hyperaware of their interactions, and Taeyong didn’t know how to feel about it.

   Taeyong watched as Johnny and Ten sat next to each other in their accustomed diner, Johnny smiling widely whenever Ten said _anything_ , taking every opportunity to rest his hand on Ten’s shoulder, even just for less than a second.

   Sometimes, Ten would smile back, but a lot of the time, he seemed perfectly oblivious.

   “I actually have to leave in a couple of minutes,” Ten’s eyes landed on the clock above them. “Early morning museum trip tomorrow.”

   “I can walk you,” Johnny insisted when Ten had barely even finished his sentence. Ten looked slightly startled at the exclamation, a small smile forming on his lips.

   “Okay, sure,” he said with a shrug, clearly not catching Johnny’s intention. Or if he had, he wasn’t making it obvious. It seemed like something that Ten would do. “But you don’t have to go home early because of me.” He looked between Taeyong and Yuta. Yuta, who had been oddly distant this evening. Or actually, for the past couple of days. Less talking, less touches and brushes, but the staring was still there. At first, Taeyong thought that it was just the after effects of the cold, but he couldn’t shake the sensation that it ran deeper than that.

   Yuta sat, poking his straw around his half-finished drink, completely withdrawn from the conversation. Taeyong waved his left hand in front of his pretty face, making him blink.

   “Yay, Yuta’s back,” Ten clapping his hands together like a child, and the way Johnny smiled at him as he did this made Taeyong wonder how _anyone_ could be so oblivious to _anything_. Johnny really couldn’t be more blatant if he tried. “We were saying that I have to leave earlier, but you guys can stay if you want.”

   “I heard,” Yuta said flatly, his mind obviously elsewhere, on the other side of the world.

   (In Osaka, where Taeyong would never be.)

   Taeyong just continued watching Yuta, completely unable to read his expression, a page in a language he thought he understood but couldn’t translate. Yuta kept his eyes trained on his violet drink, taking a sip from his straw as if nothing had happened.

   Taeyong stretched out his hand, letting it rest on Yuta’s forearm, and was pleasantly surprised when Yuta accepted the touch. His skin was colder, less colour, less vibrancy, absent of the usual warmth that he radiated.

   Yuta’s eyes looked up at him, the stars still in his eyes, but he smiled. A small smile, the smallest Taeyong had probably ever seen, but that was enough.

   “I’m going to get something from the vending machine,” Johnny announced, already getting out of his seat. “Let’s go, Taeyong.”

   Taeyong looked towards him. “What?”

   “I said, let’s go.” He practically pulled Taeyong from his seat, and Taeyong had no choice but stand up and go with him, his hand breaking from Yuta’s soft skin.

   “Joh-”

   “I’m doing this for you,” Johnny said under his breath. “For both of you.” Taeyong blinked, utterly bewildered at Johnny’s sudden declaration. The vending machine was only a couple of steps away, and they both stood in front of it, Taeyong waited for Johnny to actually use it.

   “Johnny-”

   Taeyong’s sentence was cut off when he felt a strong arm around his shoulders. He inhaled, as Johnny pushed the numbers on the keypad. It didn’t feel right, but his grip was too strong for Taeyong to squirm out of. It felt different, not the same as Yuta’s arm, not the same sensation or feeling. Taeyong would usually feel – as cliché as it sounded – butterflies in his stomach whenever Yuta touched him, aching for more, to inch into his touch.

   Johnny briefly pulled him closer, until whatever he ordered had fallen through.

   He ordered two things, his arm unravelling itself from Taeyong’s neck to get them. He handed one to Taeyong, and Taeyong immediately recognised it as one of his favourites – covered in black and green wrapper that Yuta always got him.

   Taeyong almost choked on the air. Before he had any time to react, Johnny loosely linked his arm, guiding him back to the table because Taeyong could barely walk, his head feeling light, his eyes meeting Yuta’s dispirited gaze across the room.

   And suddenly, a couple of steps away felt like an unreachable distance, an ocean away.

   It reminded Taeyong of that first summer, when Yuta was in Osaka and Taeyong was in Seoul, and neither of them could be with each other no matter how much they wanted to be.

 

-

 

   They were walking side by side, Yuta clutching Taeyong’s arm again, when Yuta candidly asked him: “Do you like Johnny?”

   Taeyong blinked, stopping in his tracks, and Yuta stopped, too. Because they were linked, intertwined, and had no other choice.

   It was already nearing night, but the skies were still relatively light and the faint breeze blew Yuta’s hair around his concerned eyes, filled with the depths of the ocean. Deep and mysterious and completely _mesmerising_.

   “We’re friends. Of course I like him,” answered Taeyong and Yuta shook his head.

   “No, but I mean do you like him? Like, have a crush on him?” Taeyong didn’t answer, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion, because Yuta was behaving so _oddly_. He’d never shown any more interest in Johnny than he did to anyone else, and it wasn’t like Taeyong had any more room to think about anybody else when there was only one person constantly on his mind. When Taeyong didn’t respond, _unable_ to respond, Yuta continued. “It’s okay if you do. I’m just wondering. He’s bi, so it’s not like…”

   His voice sounded small, completely trailing off, and Taeyong watched him, attempting to read Yuta’s facial expression. Except, the words on Yuta’s page were a complete blur.

   (He wasn’t looking close enough.)

   “It’s not like that,” Taeyong said. Yuta nodded, tight-lipped, and they continued walking in silence.

   Yuta clutched Taeyong’s arm tighter. Taeyong enjoyed the warmth, enjoyed being close to Yuta, he decided. Maybe at least accepting _that_ would help him accept everything else. And maybe accepting was the first step that he needed to take.

   He could feel Yuta’s glances on him as they walked, some hurried looks before Taeyong would look back and gaze at him. Others were long, obvious stares that Taeyong would pretend not to notice because sometimes it was easier to ignore something than confront it straight on.

   When they reached the Taeyong’s dorm, Yuta turned to him peculiarly. Taeyong eyes met his, because Yuta seemed tense, biting his lip in agitation. His wide eyes darting around as if he was looking for something, waiting for something.

   “Yuta, are you okay?” Taeyong asked.

   (He always asked.)

   The air was getting considerably colder and even though he was wrapped up perfectly warm, Taeyong still shivered.

   “You’re cold,” Yuta said. If Taeyong wasn’t already wearing his own coat, he wouldn’t have been surprised if Yuta offered him his jacket again. A part of Taeyong _wanted_ Yuta to offer him his jacket again.

   “Yuta-”

   “I’m okay,” Yuta lied through his teeth. His voice sounded faint and strained. A sharp contrast from the soft hand that met Taeyong’s, and Taeyong didn’t know what to believe.

   Taeyong gulped, suddenly aware of how close Yuta was standing, the sensation of Yuta’s warm hand on his. The stars in his chest were shaking under Yuta’s gaze, as terrified as he was.

   “Y-you’re lying,” Taeyong mumbled, feeling himself flushing. Yuta shrugged.

   “You’re one to talk.”

   Taeyong couldn’t argue with that.

   Yuta continued watching him, considering him, and Taeyong was unexpectedly reminded of that night. That drunken night that Taeyong still somehow remembered with accuracy, the night where everything almost changed. The look was the same, almost the exact same, and Taeyong could feel the stars shaking harder.

   “Yuta.”

   “Taeyong.”

   Taeyong inhaled, asking again. “What’s wrong?”

   Yuta watched him, dethatching his hand. The cold air fiercely biting Taeyong’s fingers.

   “I’m confused,” he said. “Really confused.”

   Taeyong tilted his head to one side. “Don’t be.”

   They stay like that, eyes pouring into each other’s, Taeyong getting lost in the sea that swam in Yuta’s eyes. For a moment, Taeyong didn’t know what it meant, what was happening. It seemed like the final round of their tired game, without a clear winner. No prize.

   Without warning, Yuta took Taeyong’s face in one of his hands, large and warm and Taeyong could feel not just the stars, but his entire chest, trembling under the soft touch. It was something that he’d written about, imagined many times, but still seemed so surreal.

   He could feel his breathing increase upon Yuta’s touch, biting his lip at the gaze.

   Yuta leaned forward, and Taeyong couldn’t believe that this was happening, that Yuta would actually kiss him, after years of pining, silently begging-

   He waited for their lips to meet.

   He waited.

   And he waited.

   Taeyong stared, blinking.

   “Yuta?”

   “I’m sorry,” was all he said, so low that Taeyong barely heard him. Taeyong frowned.

   “Yuta.”

   “I’m sorry, Taeyong,” he repeated, dropping his hand from Taeyong’s face, the cold air hitting it like a sharp slap. “It’s not…I’m not…”

   “What?” Taeyong dared, feeling pools forming in his eyes. Not the same deep seas for looking into, but ugly droplets that barely formed a lake, horribly cold and running down his face. “J-just say it, Yuta.”

   (Just break him, Yuta. Just rip out the page and throw it in a fire, Yuta.)

   “Taeyong, I’m confused, okay?”

   “Confused.” Taeyong repeated the word back to him, carefully, like whenever he’d repeat Japanese words back to Yuta. Doing his best to perfect the pronunciation, and watching Yuta’s face light up with pride when he eventually did. “What’s so confusing?”

   “It’s not…you’re crying,” he said softly, taking a step closer, but Taeyong only took a step back. Taeyong clumsily wiped away one his fallen tears with his hand, refusing to look Yuta in the eye, those precious eyes, again. He was an overemotional and idealistic mess, a complete idiot, and he knew that Yuta hated seeing him cry, but he couldn’t help it.

   “I-I think you should go,” Taeyong said lowly, looking down at his feet. Yuta attempted to grab his hand again, his left hand, but Taeyong inched it away. He didn’t want to think of the wounded expression on Yuta’s face, the sad turn of his lips. Tears were still welling up in Taeyong’s eyes, and he suddenly hated how pathetically hopeful he was.

   “Taeyong…”

   “Yuta. Please leave.”

   Taeyong was used to pushing people, pushing things away, but Yuta was the only exception. The one who resisted, who was stubborn enough to put his foot down, to stay, to keep knocking until Taeyong opened up. He’d stayed for years, and when he did leave, he always came back. Always.

   So when Taeyong heard the familiar footsteps walking away from him, looking up at the figure growing smaller, Taeyong blinked and wondered whether this was what being heartbroken felt like.

 

-

 

   Taeyong flipped through the yellow book, a book that he always kept shut, regarding the faint letters on the pages. He was itching to touch a piano again, he needed to get his emotions out somehow, but it was too far into the evening for any music rooms to be open.

   Maybe he felt too much, maybe he was just too sensitive. Yuta didn’t get it. Or maybe he did. But he didn’t want the same thing that Taeyong did. They were both on different pages, failing to meet in the middle.

   Yuta almost kissed him. He almost did, close enough for Taeyong to feel his breath on his face. In that moment, it felt like the entire world was at balance, perfect pieces falling into place, Yuta’s lips against his own, because that was what Taeyong wanted, right?

   But something made Yuta pause. Something made him realise that this wasn’t what he wanted, something _confused_ him, confused him enough for him to stop and tell Taeyong that _it wasn’t like that_. It would never be like that.

   It didn’t matter that Taeyong loved the way Yuta would smile at him whenever Taeyong spoke, or loved how Yuta would pull him close without realising, or the way that he’d squeeze Taeyong’s hand in reassurance. And maybe Yuta did stare at him a lot, and maybe Taeyong did get flustered because Yuta’s eyes contained every star in the sky and Taeyong secretly wanted to count every single one.

   None of that mattered.

 

-

 

   Johnny freaked out over the phone, when Taeyong could barely speak through his tears. His throat was completely dry, his voice cracking, and all Taeyong wanted was for Yuta to be there, so that he could _tell_ him, but he didn’t know how.

   He didn’t know how.

   Johnny sounded distressed and asked if Taeyong wanted to come over. Taeyong obliged, because he had nothing else. No-one else.

   At 11pm, Taeyong got into a taxi with his phone and familiar yellow notepad, his hair pushed down to hopefully hide his pathetic red eyes. Looking down at Yuta’s name on his phone, Taeyong sighed and let it ring.

   Even more tears threatened to spill from his eyes, the stars in his chest no longer shaken. Instead, they sunk, dim and disheartened like they’d never shone in the first place.

 

-

 

_**Taeyong** …_

_I know that nobody really listens to voicemails anymore but you do sometimes because you hate the notifications and in case you do… **Taeyong**. I just want to say that I’m **sorry**. I’m so so **sorry** I don’t know what’s going on or what I’m thinking and it’s totally unfair to you…you deserve so much **better**. You really do. I’m **sorry** I…I made you cry…_

_I made you **cry** , Taeyong. It…it broke my **heart** , seeing your hands shake like that, silently it…oh my God Taeyong I’m so **sorry**._

_…_

_…_

_…_

_I’m…I don’t know. I’m just **scared**._

_If – God I am **so** **sorry** – if you don’t hate me…if you want to, just please call me back. Or text me. Or anything just…just let me know what I can do, Taeyong. If there’s **anything** I can do._

_I’m so **sorry** I just let everything wash over me and I wasn’t thinking properly and it all just terrified me because I thought that you didn’t like me and the fear crushed me like boulder and I couldn’t **breathe**._

_…_

_…_

_…_

_I…it’s selfish, I know. To say all of this. I didn’t want to do this over the phone but I’m scared everything is all going to **change** now and you’ll never want to talk to me again._

_I made you **cry** …_

_…_

_…_

_…_

_I should have **kissed** you. I **wanted** to kiss you. I wanted to kiss you so **badly**._

_And you wanted to kiss me, **too**._

_Didn’t you…?_

_…_

_…_

_…_

_**Please** say that you did…_

_…_

_…_

_…_

_**I…I love you**. I’m in love with you, **Taeyong**._

 

-

 

   Taeyong had a rather good memory, but right now, he couldn’t remember much.

   He stared down at his bandaged hand as the nurse explained to him what happened. Taeyong barely remembered any of that either, besides _drunk drivers are the worst…they ruin lives_ and _you’re extremely lucky, Mr Lee. It’s only your hand_.

   Taeyong could barely speak. He was in pain. So much _pain_. His head throbbed, and he couldn’t move his hand, _his hand_. The hospital bed wasn’t comfortable at all.

   (Maybe it would be more comfortable if Yuta was beside him.)

   Yuta. All Taeyong wanted was to see Yuta. He needed _Yuta_.

   Yuta, who had no idea where he was, who didn’t see Taeyong as anything _more_ , and likely completely forgot about Taeyong, trying to push him out of his mind.

   The thought made his heart ache, and he wanted to cry again.

   His phone was shattered, all of those memories gone, erased. Photos of Yuta and his skies that could never be retrieved.

   The taxi driver continued apologising to him in broken Korean, and Taeyong couldn’t even forgive him, because it wasn’t his fault in the first place.

   It was just a case of extremely bad luck and timing. Being in the wrong place at the wrong time. It would be different if Taeyong was in a different taxi, if he’d left a couple of minutes later, if they’d taken a different route. Like a lot of things, it wasn’t anything that Taeyong could control.

   Turning his head, he saw his precious notebook next to him, and he sighed in relief.

   At least something survived.

   What he could have had with Yuta may have died, but the notes, the feelings.

   That had all survived.

 

-

 

   “I play piano,” Taeyong said desperately to one of the nurses. It was something that had been on his mind since he had explained everything to him. The nurse looked uneasy at Taeyong’s sudden speech as she poured his drink. “Can I still play?”

   The nurse hesitated, and Taeyong held his breath.

   “It’s…maybe,” she said. “You can always play one handed.”

   Taeyong didn’t think that it was possible, but somehow, his heart splintered even more, the fragments scattering throughout his body, unable to be found.

   He blinked his tears away, begging himself not to cry, not _here_ , but his mind was entirely detached from his body. He’d lost everything, completely shut away, surrounded by people he didn’t know in an unfamiliar place, and there was no guarantee that Yuta would ever come back.

   He was gone.

   His chest felt heavy, convinced that his heart had somehow stopped beating and sunk, useless, the stars dying off one by one.

   It was pathetic, he knew, but he _needed_ Yuta to be there. Here. With him. He needed Yuta to be beside him and squeeze his hand and tell him that it was all going to be okay. He needed Yuta to smile at him with his healing smile; maybe that would make him and his hand better.

   He needed Yuta’s warmth, his touch, his words, _him_.

   Even if Yuta didn’t feel the same way. Taeyong would pretend that it didn’t crush him and make him feel like he’d just been pushed off a cliff by the one person he trusted the most. Taeyong would keep pretending, because he so desperately wanted Yuta by his side, to stop him from leaving, and if that meant that Taeyong had to act like he wasn’t in love with him, he’d happily oblige.

   Taeyong blinked, feeling the tears fall, but there was nobody to wipe them away.

   (A light shower quickly turned into a rainstorm, and it didn’t look like the sun would ever return again.)

 

-

 

   “You’re really in love with him,” Ten said solemnly from next to him. The nurses finally managed to get a hold of Johnny’s number, who was completely incoherent on the phone, rambling about how it was his fault and he shouldn’t have gotten involved.

   Taeyong continuously told him that he was fine, that it was nothing in Johnny’s control, like bad weather or unlucky timing. If Taeyong knew anything, it was that worrying over something he had no control over would only result in misery.

   Ten offered to come over since Johnny couldn’t, and hesitated when Taeyong agreed.

   (“I thought you hate me.”

   “Most of the time.”)

   Ten nodded over to his notebook. “I’m sorry. I only read the first page…I didn’t realise,” he said. “But, Taeyong-”

   “He doesn’t like me.” Ten paused, and Taeyong repeated himself. “H-he doesn’t like me.”

   “No, he _loves_ you.”

   “No, he doesn’t.” Taeyong shook his head. Ten frowned at him, crossing his arms.

   “How do you know that?”

   Taeyong bit his lip. He didn’t want to think about it all again, to relieve the feeling of having his heart crushed under the weight of the world. “Because, h-he…didn’t kiss me, Ten,” he admitted. “He said that he didn’t get it, he almost kissed me but he didn’t.” Taeyong looked towards him, expecting Ten to start laughing at his weak sounding explanation, but he sat, listening intently, his face full of concern that Taeyong had never seen before.

   “I know. It’s been all that he’s talked about for the past couple of days, Taeyong,” sighed Ten, his shoulders slumping like Atlas finally giving up. Taeyong blinked. So Yuta had confided in Ten, already telling him everything? Taeyong didn’t know whether to be thankful that he didn’t have to explain it all, or slightly offended at the breach of privacy. “Listen; do you know what Yuta did when he found out what happened to you? I’ve never seen _anyone_ cry so much. He’s been a complete mess, Taeyong. He won’t shut up about you and about how it’s all his fault; he hasn’t been to any of his lectures or football practice. Johnny had to take his phone away because he wouldn’t stop leaving you voicemails that you were never going to hear, anyway.”

   Taeyong watched him.

   “And I’m certain that the only reason why he’s not here right now is because he doesn’t know what to say, because he’s just as scared as you are. If not, more. H-he’s just scared, Taeyong,” Ten finished with a deep sigh, glancing up at the ceiling as if he was expecting Yuta to fall from it. “This is _the_ most stressful thing I’ve ever had to deal with and it’s not even _my_ relationship.”

   Taeyong blinked, soaking in all of the words. As brutally honest and irksome he could be, Ten was doing his best, and looking at his red eyes, Taeyong thought that maybe it was because he cared a lot more than Taeyong realised.

   “Just say that you’re in love with him. Why is that so hard to say?”

   Taeyong looked down at his frail, bandaged hand. His left hand, the one that Yuta always touched, brushed, squeezed, the one he used to perfect lyrics about Yuta, to play these songs about Yuta. He’d never be able to do any of that with this hand again, but that didn’t mean that the stars in his chest would stop shining.

   Taeyong looked at Ten, who was helping himself to the open bowl of biscuits on Taeyong’s bedside, and while Taeyong was convinced that he was the devil before, maybe he’d jumped to his assumption too quickly.

   “Ten?”

   “Hm?”

   Taeyong took a deep breath. “You know Johnny?”

   Ten nodded, his eyes keen, suddenly alert at the mention of Johnny’s name. “What about him?”

   (Taeyong wondered whether he had stars in his heart, too.)

 

-

 

   Yuta didn’t show up the next day, but Johnny did.

   He had a spring in his step, looking bright and content. Taeyong was just pleased that he wasn’t as upset as he sounded on the phone yesterday, and when Taeyong asked why, he beamed about how Ten had kissed him on the way home last night and they were now dating.

   Taeyong was happy for them.

   If only he was that brave. If he wasn’t so scared of what Yuta would say. Why was he so scared? Why was _Yuta_ so scared? For the same reasons as Taeyong, or for completely different reasons entirely?

   Taeyong wondered what would have happened if he’d kissed Yuta instead. If he had any ounce of courage in his body, if he’d just closed the gap. Would Yuta kiss back, or would he have pushed away, breaking Taeyong’s heart again, but just in a different way?

   He wondered where Yuta was right now. Whether he was thinking about Taeyong in the same way that Taeyong thought about him. Whether he also wanted to get lost in Taeyong’s touch, his lips, his eyes. Whether he wanted to hold Taeyong’s hand and kiss his knuckles and say something cheesy in Japanese that Taeyong would try to look up later.

   It was all so stupid. Taeyong felt so stupid for feeling, for wanting this much, for still thinking about it knowing full well that the world hated him and would only leave him stranded in the rain.

   “So you can’t feel anything at all?” Johnny asked him, his voice low and hesitant. Taeyong barely noticed, looking out of the window. His bed was too far away to see anything meaningful, but a desperate part of him imagined seeing Yuta in his black and red baseball jacket walking down the street, towards the door, and making his way in. That last glimmer of hope shaking him, because he still felt this much, despite the fact that _that was not happening_.

   “I…love him,” Taeyong said, slowly and carefully, treading over his words like they’d trigger a volcanic eruption. “I love him, Johnny.”

   Johnny comforted him, rubbing a hand on his shoulder, but it wasn’t the same as when Yuta did it. Stars didn’t dance. They remained motionless, reminding him that only one person could make them shake.

   “He should be here,” Taeyong sniffled. “Why isn’t he here?”

   Johnny said something along the lines of _give him time_ and Taeyong was reminded of what the doctor said about his hand. _The nerves are broken, but give it time. They could heal. Give them time_.

   _Could_ heal.

   Taeyong wanted to bury himself in Yuta’s arms.

 

-

 

   The next day, nobody showed up.

   Taeyong understood. Lectures were a thing, and his family was on the other side of Seoul.

   He was reminded of what his sister said on the phone, trying her best to make it sound like she wasn’t on the verge of tears.

   _Is Yuta with you?_

Taeyong paused, for less than a second, but it was a second too long. The question stung badly. On any other day, he’d answer with a confident _yes_ , because there’d be no doubt that Yuta would be there, right beside him. As always.

   _Where’s Yuta?_

 _H-he’s fine_.

   A complete lie, because Taeyong didn’t even _know_ whether Yuta was fine. He couldn’t even answer the question.

   The nurses hoisted him up, and he could at least walk perfectly fine, but it almost didn’t matter to him, because his hand was still weak and he couldn’t play. All of those songs for Yuta that he’d never be able to play again. They may as well have been gone, too.

 _You may need surgery_ , the nurse said. _But even then, the final result may not be known for at least two years. You’ll have to learn to adapt with one hand, Mr Lee_.

   Taeyong stood by the window, staring out for the familiar frame he wanted to see more than anything.

 _You’re extremely lucky. It was only your hand. Your hand is still there. There’s the small possibility that you could make a full recovery_.

   Taeyong took a deep breath.

   _Some people lose an entire arm or a leg, or are completely paralysed. Don’t take it for granted. You’re one of the lucky stars, Mr Lee_.

   It didn’t make him feel any better.

   Maybe he was a lucky star, but it didn’t feel like at all.

 

-

 

   Trying to navigate with only one active hand was pointless, Taeyong thought, and he didn’t think that adapting was one of his strengths, either.

   He was sat with Ten in the ward common room, a dated gossip magazine on the coffee table, hesitantly turning each page with his right hand. His only hand. He couldn’t flick through the pages like Ten, because his left hand couldn’t even hold up the stupid stack of paper.

   Ten was oddly silent; answering with short sentences whenever Taeyong tried to make conversation, as if his mind was completely elsewhere. Taeyong eventually gave up. He appreciated the company, and that was all that mattered.

_Your sister says that she’s on her way. She’s also bringing you a new phone. Isn’t that exciting?_

   Taeyong had to politely remind the nurse that he was twenty-years-old.

   His mind wandered back to the yellow notebook. It was back on the ward, and he knew that it wasn’t a replacement for Yuta, but he somehow felt closer to him when he had it. It was all he had left; the only thing that came out unscathed.

   (He didn’t count. His hand was as good as gone, and hearing constant _coulds_ and _maybes_ didn’t make him feel any better.)

   Taeyong stood up, and Ten glimpsed at him. “Where are you going?”

   “To get my book.”

   Ten flipped his magazine to the side, practically jumping up. “I’ll get it. You stay here.”

   Taeyong looked at him, puzzled. “Why?”

   “You spend too much time on that ward. I’ll get it.”

   Ten made his way for the door, but stopped in his tracks when he caught sight of it.

   Taeyong followed his gaze and it was as if all of the oceans in the world, in his heart, had stopped moving.

   Yuta, with his beautifully tragic tear-stained face and shining diamond eyes, biting his lip and hands shaking, in front of an equally anxious looking Johnny. Yuta took one look at Taeyong’s bandaged hand, holding a shaking hand over his mouth.

   “I’m _so_ sorry,” was all he faintly heard, muffled and regretful. Ten scurried out of the room with Johnny, and Taeyong turned his full attention to the one person he wanted to see.

   “Yuta-”

   “Taeyong, I’m so sorry,” Yuta took a step forward. “It’s all my fault. I kept suppressing my feelings until I thought that you liked Johnny. I thought that I was just a jealous friend but it was…it was _more_ than that.” He paused. “And that’s when it all just hit me. It hit me that I’d left my feelings unattended for so long thinking that you’d always be there without realising that one day you could move on. And leave. And then I tried to ring you…” Yuta’s voice cracked. He took a deep breath, and Taeyong moved closer, slipping Yuta’s hair out of his eyes. They were _so_ beautiful, filled to the brim with tears, but still beautiful. Yuta was so incredibly beautiful, and Taeyong could look at him forever. “And I completely ruined it. I made you _cry_ , Taeyong.”

   Taeyong shook his head, inhaling. “Yuta-”

   “Taeyong, _your hand_.”

   “I don’t care about my stupid hand. I care about you.” Taeyong patted the tears as they fell from Yuta’s eyes. He didn’t deserve this; neither of them deserved this. If anything, it was Taeyong’s fault, for ignoring his feelings, for ignoring the signs and choosing to remain oblivious until he could no longer bear it. It was Taeyong’s fault for being so bad at emotions, for being so closed off and terrified of how he felt, terrified of what could happen, terrified of how much he loved.

   Why was he so scared?

   (The stars started dancing, the ocean waves singing, and the familiar feeling started again.

   It had never really stopped.)

   “You could have died…” Yuta said softly, his voice barely audible if it wasn’t for the complete lack of distance between them.

   “Yuta…”

   “How long will it take to heal? It will heal right?”

   Taeyong shrugged his shoulders.

   “Taeyong-”

   “Yuta, _Iloveyou_ ,” the words spilled out of his mouth, words that he’d been wanting to say for years, but never knew when, how, whether it would be enough. “I’m so in love with you and I’ve been in love with you for as long as I could remember,” he said. “I love you and it hurt when I thought….”

   Yuta’s piercing eyes stared at him, fixated on Taeyong, and he suddenly had the sensation that a million stars were watching him.

   “I’m so sorry. I’ve been so stupid,” Yuta said. “I know I’ve always been in love with you, too, but I could never bring myself to face it.”

   “…Why?”

   Taeyong asked, because he always asked. Always wanted to know. Yuta shrugged, exhausted, the strands of his hair bouncing.

   “It’s scary, Taeyong. Loving someone so much and fearing that they don’t love you back.”

   Taeyong nodded sagely. “I know.”

   Yuta’s lips curved upwards, a sight that Taeyong never realised he could miss so much. The ground started to shake slightly, a low laugh escaping Yuta’s lips.

   “What’s wrong with us?” He asked, likely rhetorical, but Taeyong answered him anyway.

   “We’re in love, I guess.” Taeyong said, feeling himself smiling for the first time in days. There was no mistaking the way Yuta’s eyes glanced down at Taeyong lips, and the ground started to shake again. All at once, Yuta clasped Taeyong’s face in his soft hands.

   “Can I kiss you?”

   “I’ve been waiti-”

   Taeyong was cut off when Yuta’s trembling lips met his own, kissing him delicately, full of desperation and contentment. Taeyong kissed back, resting his hand on Yuta’s sharp jawline. He’d never kissed anyone before, but kissing Yuta felt so _natural_ , so right. As natural as cherry blossom tress or perfect blue skies, as natural as the stars in the sky and the flowers in the ground. It didn’t feel like the first time, their first kiss, at all; it felt like he was getting lost in Yuta’s lips for the millionth time, and hopefully, there’d be a million more kisses on the way.

   The stars in Taeyong’s chest weren’t just dancing, but shaking, exploding, like hidden fireworks that he’d never knew were there, making him feel warmer, fuller, than he ever thought he could. Taeyong was right, he was absolutely right. The entire universe lay among Yuta’s lips and Taeyong could feel it all.

   Eventually their lips parted, but a sensational tingling feeling still lingered. Not just on his lips, but everywhere, in his chest, in his hand, and he was sure that his own eyes were sparkling.

   (Not as bright as Yuta’s. Never as bright as Yuta’s.)

   Yuta kept his hands on Taeyong’s face, as if he didn’t want to let go, like Taeyong was something special and delicate and _more_ -

   “I’m so in love with you,” Yuta said as softly as he held him, and Taeyong felt that familiar, comfortable feeling in his chest, a tsunami of affection washing over him, reminding him that this was _real_.

   The stars kept dancing, even without the melody of the piano to dance along to.

 

-

 

   Things didn’t change as much as Taeyong thought that they would. Yuta visited whenever he could, and since Taeyong still didn’t have a phone, it was always a pleasant surprise, seeing Yuta stride in with a large bouquet of flowers. Sometimes with Ten or Johnny following behind in embarrassment, because ‘ _oh my gosh, he’s so cliché_ ’.

   (Once, Ten and Johnny both come along, asking for Taeyong’s final word on which one of them was _really_ responsible for him and Yuta finally getting together. Taeyong still hadn’t really answered that.)

 _These flowers are really getting too much, Mr Lee_ , one of the nurses nagged, eyeing the indoor garden with her hands on her hips. _You must be incredibly loved_.

   Yuta kissed his forehead and brought his chair next to him, as close as he possibly could, taking Taeyong’s hand in his and enthusiastically telling him about his day. Taeyong watched intently, as Yuta told him about football practice, something about defenders and time outs, and other terms that Taeyong didn’t fully understand. But it didn’t matter, because having Yuta next to him, excited and cheerful, was all that Taeyong needed.

   They stole kisses and cuddles in the ward common room, staying there for hours on end. It wasn’t as intimate as they’d like, but it was the best that they have for now.

   (And it’s when he gazes at Taeyong like he’s a rare jewel, repeating the phrase ‘Iloveyou’ until Taeyong becomes flustered enough for him to stop.

   That’s when Taeyong realises that you can fall in love _again and again_.)

   _Please don’t leave_.

   Taeyong found himself whispering out loud when he had his head on Yuta’s lap, with less than fifteen minutes left before visiting time was over and the weight of his biggest worry had finally started to crash through. Yuta paused from stroking his hair, lowly asking what Taeyong meant, a slight touch of confusion and hurt in his soft voice.

   _Y-you’re going to leave. One day, you’ll go back to Osaka without me and forget about me and never come back…_

Taeyong couldn’t stop himself from rambling, his voice already breaking and he didn’t even know _why_. Why it suddenly overtook him, why he was suddenly terrified, even though Yuta was right there with him, waiting for him, warm and soft as always.

   Yuta paused for a long time. A long time, staring at Taeyong like he was reading him, reading every page.

   _You’re so cute_.

   He kissed his forehead, and Taeyong couldn’t tell whether the stars in his chest were shaking out of love or out of fear.

   _The next time I go to Osaka, you’re coming with me_.

   He kissed his forehead again.

   _Only if you want to, of course._

He brought up Taeyong’s hand. His right hand, currently his only hand, and gave it another kiss, soft and airy, making Taeyong’s heart flutter as if this was the first time he’d done this.

   _I’m not going anywhere. I want to be right here. With you._

   It took Taeyong an absurd amount of time to realise that Yuta was holding the wrong side, his broken side, the one with the weak hand that he could just about clench and unclench, but still weak as ever. 

   Yuta held it; not tightly, but he still held it, and Taeyong knew what the nurses said about putting too much pressure on that hand. But he trusted Yuta. He trusted Yuta as he stared into his eyes, saying far more than words could ever say, more than any tune a piano could make, more than all the constellations in the sky could form.

   And staring into those precious eyes that contained all of the constellations in the sky, Taeyong realised that he didn’t need any sensation in his hand to feel Yuta’s warmth.

 

-

 

   The night sky was mellow, a dark navy that couldn’t be replicated with a paintbrush, scattered with silver stars that twinkled like fairy lights.

   It surprisingly wasn’t as cold as they thought it would be, the world being good to them for once.

   “Are you sure you’re not too cold?” Yuta asked him anxiously from where he sat next to Taeyong. On his right side, this time, because it was the only side he could hold his hand.

   His left hand was still bandaged, still pretty useless, but the healing seemed to have plateaued enough for Taeyong to be discharged. Surgery waiting lists were a thing, and there was no point in keeping him for too long, so he was finally free to go until he needed to be called back again.

   Taeyong’s sister had made it just in time, practically breaking down in tears when she saw Taeyong and Yuta’s hands intertwined, because _it was about time…I’ve been waiting for so long._

(Taeyong cried trying to explain it all to her. Cried about how broken he was, about how he’d never be the same, about how he could never play again. It all came to the surface at once, an outburst of emotion and of course Yuta hated seeing him cry, but Taeyong couldn't supress emotions anymore.

   Instead, Yuta just clutched him and told him that he’d do whatever it takes to make Taeyong feel better. Some way. Somehow. And that was all Taeyong needed.)

   Taeyong’s sister offered to drive them out of town for the weekend, for a change of scenery, after spending so much time in hospital.

   But Yuta had a better idea.

   His parents old house was still around, where Yuta went when he wanted to go home, a house that his parents hadn’t occupied for over a year.

   And now, they sat on the roof, the very same roof that they sat under together all those years ago, when Taeyong realised that Yuta was a star himself.

   “I’m fine,” Taeyong said, and for the first time in a long time, he truly meant it. It wasn’t as cold, they were surrounded in blankets, and Taeyong wore Yuta’s baseball jacket that had way too many memories tied to it already. “It’s perfect.”

   He meant that, too.

   Taeyong glanced up at the sky, attempting to make shapes out of the stars, and failing miserably. Maybe the stars weren’t always meant to make shapes. Maybe the shapes weren’t as obvious as they seemed.

   “Yuta.” Taeyong said, still feeling his gaze on him and if the stars in the sky represented the ones in his heart, they would have shaken and tumbled and fallen because that’s what Yuta’s gaze did to him.

   “I love you,” Yuta said, almost to himself, as if it was a spoken thought, rather than something he expected a response to. Taeyong couldn’t count how many times he’d said it, but it still made him red, still made his heart shake, and Taeyong wondered whether he’d ever get used to it.

   Before Taeyong could say it back, Yuta’s lips were already on his. A quick, fleeting kiss that was over before it even started, that made Taeyong feel as light as air, like a leaf in the wind.

   “Do you need anything?”

   “Yuta-”

   “I can get more blankets. Or make more tea.”

   “Yuta, can you please let me speak?” Taeyong asked him – always asking – a smile on his face. “It’s fine. It’s all perfect. I’m warm and you’re here, and that’s more than I need, okay?”

   He rested his head on Yuta’s shoulder, taking in his heat. The atmosphere, the peace of the night besides the occasional sound of a car racing past.

   “Taeyong?”

   “Hm?”

   “You know that yellow book?”

   Taeyong looked up at him, his eyes meeting Yuta’s. He should have expected that this would come up sooner or later, but not _this_ soon. He admitted that it kind of terrified him, having to explain it all. It wasn’t something that he really anticipated, that he’d ever had to explain to anyone.

   “They’re songs. Piano songs.” Taeyong nodded towards his defective hand, making it clear that those songs would likely never be played. At least, not by himself.

   “About…?”

   Taeyong bit his lip. “About you. Us. Mostly you.”

   Yuta shifted, his grasp tightening as he built up the courage to ask what Taeyong knew he really wanted to know.

   “Can I…?”

   Taeyong smiled at him.

   “Later. When I’m asleep.”

   Yuta blinked, his mouth forming into a smile. “Why when you’re asleep?”

   “Because they’re all cliché and embarrassing.”

   “No, they’re not.” Yuta turned; now facing opposite Taeyong, his face only inches away, his starlit eyes blinking at him and making Taeyong forget that the sky right about him was filled with just as many stars. “And this entire situation is cliché and embarrassing.”

   “Maybe,” Taeyong smiled. “You’re the embarrassing boyfriend.”

   “I try.”

   “I know.”

   “I love you.”

   Taeyong laughed, bridging the gap. “I love you, too.” It was all hopelessly cliché, falling in love with your best friend, kissing under the stars. But being with Yuta, wearing his jacket and feeling his soft lips against his own, Taeyong knew that he wouldn’t have it any other way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~ヾ(＾∇＾)
> 
> wow. it's over.
> 
> here's the [yutae archive](https://ao3feed-yutae.tumblr.com/).
> 
> here's my [twitter](http://twitter.com/raventiques) and [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/raventiques). all feedback is appreciated!!
> 
> thank you so much for reading all of this, if you did. i don't know how you did it, but you did!! thank you again for everything.
> 
> \- Heart♥


End file.
